DEAD HEAD

I woke up laying on my arm in such a way that I lost all feeling in it.
It was like it wasn't even attached.

Not that tingley kind of asleep, either.

Pure Dead Weight!

When I tried to roll over, it was like an anchor.

I touched it with my other hand and tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. I didn't have the leverage. I couldn't even feel my hand on it.

It was so weird!

After wrestling with it for a few minutes it slowly regained feeling.

It got me thinking, though...

What if that happened to your head?

I mean, you wake up and your head is just hanging off your shoulders like a bowling ball that some maniacal scientist had grafted onto you in your sleep?

You try holding it up with your hands, but you can't feel it well enough to get a hold of it.

So, now your trying to get down the stairs to get to the bathroom mirror to see if in fact your head is still there, and this bowling ball is just flopping back and forth knocking things off the wall. You slip in all the drool and fall head first down the steps!?

I guess I'm lucky that this time it was only my arm. This time!

If it ever does happen, though, I'll be ready.

I've set up some bowling pins at the bottom of the stairs.

That One Thing

This is only a test.
I have nothing to write about.
It is late.
It is twenty degrees outside.
My cat is sprawled out on the floor.
Next to the wood stove.
Here in my kitchen.
Next to me.
As I type this.
The radio is playing trance music.
I am enjoying my beer.
(Magic Hat "Blind Faith", I.P.A.)
The candles are burning.
Ambiance.
Atmosphere.
Peace.
There is nothing that could make me feel any more content with my world right now.
Almost nothing.
Almost nothing.
The music is hypnotic.
The fire is comforting.
My cat is my muse.
I am happy.
But for one thing.
If I had that one thing.
Just one thing.
Tonight.
...yeah.

Fatso Pussycat, Kill Kill

My cat is staring at me.

I am casually enjoying my evening at home,

but my cat is staring at me.

I have a comfortable home. It's a cozy castle heated by fire.

I don't work tomorrow, so I am enjoying a few cocktails tonight.

And, she stares at me!

Sitting in my lazy-boy recliner is my fat little Cayo.

She always gets the good seat.

I would sit on the floor before I would make her move.

She knows that.

And still, she stares.

Intimidating me.

Waiting for me to fuck up.

But, I am her primary care provider.

My wood stove is blazing, the outside temp is plummeting, and even tho she is sprawled out luxuriously in a cozy nest of blankets in MY lazy-boy, she stares at me.

"What!?"

"Jesus! "

"What!?"

She is waiting for me to pass out. I know it!

You should see the size of the mice she brings home to eat in front of me. She is working herself up to something bigger...

O.K. I may be paranoid, but...

Well, I really can't talk now.

She suspects something.

She is staring at me.

I am here for her.

Do YOU have a cat?

or...Does a cat... have YOU?