Saturday, July 16, 2011

Oh, God, not this again.

The one thing I think that hasn't changed in all my life is that I've been damn paranoid. Have I said that before? It's really fun being paranoid. You get to wear tinfoil hats and when you're - like me, that can get real interesting, real fast. But there's only so many freaks at this circus.

I'm not even bothered with looking for hoodies or threatening graffiti or masks or anything anymore. The dangerous ones are smart enough not to do anything of the sort. The dangerous ones are the ones I hate, because the dangerous ones are the ones that know just how to get you to relax your guard before they try to get at you.

They say it's a sin to kill a mockingbird, and we all know where sinners go when they die. I watched one of the little feathered guys bash its head into a glass sliding door over and over and over again. It wasn't just that it couldn't understand that there was a wall there. The thing was trying to commit suicide. You know, just like a depressed suicidal teenager. It wouldn't die, either. The bird damn near killed itself, sure, but it just fell to the ground, eventually, too beat up to remember how to fly. I nursed it back to health. OK, OK - I brought it to a vet and the vet nursed it back to health, but I paid for its care. Took a while, but it grew healthy enough to survive outside of the vet's office. I took it home, and I let it fly around, and then it got eaten by the neighbor's cat. The Hunger set in again that night, and I buried the cat in the neighbor's garden out back of the building.

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