This site is a testament to not only my life but to the insanity of society. Dive into Psycho Carnival and you'll find tragicomic personal stories, wild yet honest rants, a little depravity, videos and a buttload of other goodies.

This site also contains adult like humor and ideas that could make you think. Consider yourself warned!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

A Typical, But Not Completely, Typical Day

I woke up, today, around 11:00, after about fours of sleep. Seems like I can't sleep any longer than that, lately, without waking up from some strange dream. They're mostly "guilt dreams". I'm only theorizing about that. But I guess I've been burying my conscious and it only escapes during my sleep. This beast has been having it's fun with me for the past month and IT is getting mighty annoying.

Pop goes the nasty shit! It's running out of my mind's door! Unfortunately, it's still in my sleepy head, where it stays trapped. Fuckin' guilt! I liked it better when I didn't dream. A decent sex dream would be welcome, for certain.

When I'm awake, I don't think about anything "I believe" I've done wrong. Normally. But, like the therapist pointed out during one session several years ago... He said I persecute myself and think I deserve punishment for things I've said or have done towards people. He also said that I seem to have the tendency to formulate it in my head like whatever I said or did- to be blown out of proportion. He based it on things I had said, when I was around this or that person, from other sessions.

Makes sense. So now the shitty goop of misplaced or unwarranted guilt is popping up in my dreams. Ah, how nice. But I'm going to confront it head on and admit that I'm not that bad a person and carry on... Even if it takes a hammer to my head to knock the evil goop out my ears. I can't afford therapy at the moment, so I'm going to do battle with my stupid brain, by myself. Like Homer Simpson, I'm going to give it a good talking to and tell it who's boss. If that doesn't work, it's HAMMER TIME, baby.

As I was saying, I woke up, made coffee, petted the cat and put two Bacon and Cheese Hot Pockets in the microwave. Soon enough, I ate them and played my messages on the answering machine. One was from the wifey, telling me she made it to work alright. Good. Next, was the receptionist from my doctor's office. She was letting me know that my insulin pens for my diabetes came in from the patient assistance program. Definitely good news. They had messed up the order of insulin last time and if I hadn't caught that it was the wrong stuff-- when I picked it up from the doctor's office, I could have taken it home, injected it into myself and.... Who knows?

After that, I showered, made supper for later tonight and got my clothes on. That's right! I was cooking in the nude! Excited? No? Alrighty then. Anyway, while I was managing to cook up some Tuna Helper, the cat started going nuts when he smelled the tuna cans I was opening. He kept leaping on my legs as the cans slowly turned round and round the electric can opener. At one point, I thought he was going to strike at my lopsided nutsack and rip into it. Then my precious jelly beans would fall out! Then I would feel blue. My solution is to give him a can of Fancy Feast cat food in a can. It's something we give him as a treat, once in awhile. It says on the can that it is Whitefish and Tuna flavored. Ah ha... That will fool him, I think, patting myself on the back.


I set the bowl of juicy, succulent cat food down on the floor (are you as horny as I am?) and he eats it like a little piggy. His normal bowl of cat food is sitting there, halfway full, next to the water bowl. He's a spoiled little bastard. But then I feel sorry for him because he is our only "child" now. Mufasa, our eldest cat, died, recently. We only have Victor now. He's loving and playful and lonely. We plan on getting him a playmate after Christmas. It's too hectic these days and it takes patience to train a kitten, which is what we'll be looking for when the time comes. No pound kitties, though. We had extremely bad luck with that. That was years ago. Max the Cat was his name and shitting behind and beneath megaton furniture, for no good reason, was his game. Sometimes we didn't find his piss and shit surprises until it was too late. Almost needless to say, Max was returned before I could kill him. We gave him four weeks too many. If I wanted to clean up shit for longer than four weeks, I would have had a friggin' kid. No thanks. There's already enough breeders in this world as it is. Many of them aren't equipped with enough brains or conscious to do battle with themselves.

But, on the same token, responsible parents are just as easy to spot.

I say we give the rotten adults an abortion. Or... Any more than two kids, then you have to give up your genitals. Sorry. Rules are rules and we know how humans love their rules. Lap dog, over breeding imbeciles that don't put on their turn signal when they're changing lanes, by damned it! What was I talking about? Damn those voices in my head.

Immediately, when I finished cooking, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, put on my jacket and hat and out the door I went. I went to doctor's office to pick up the insulin pens, went to the grocery store to pick up lunch meat and bread, went to get monetarily raped at the gas station where the gas is currently at $2.85 a gallon and then I went back home. I checked to see if they got my insulin order right this time. They did! Jackpot! I get to live a couple more months. Hooray. And stuff. After putting everything away, I got back in the truck and drove to the park, with haste.

I had to get my daily park walking done in a hurry. It would be dark soon and wifey was going to be home in a half hour. I try to be there for her so I can be a good husband and not get a beating with the baseball bat. I'm so abused. OK. I might be exaggerating just a little. But she does confide in me that she would like to cut my dick off while I'm asleep. But strangely, that's not why I have trouble sleeping at night. By the way, I laugh when she says such things because I threaten to twist her nipple off now and then. It's like an ongoing comedy routine we have going on. 21 years. Quite healthy.

So off to the park I go. The first person I see is the guy by the athletics supply building. This building sits close to the tennis court that is hardly used and still looks new and the basketball court, nearby, that is the same way. The guy, I'm guessing, is the guy who takes care of supplying the athletes with enough balls and stuff to do their thing. The door was open, obviously, with a key. He looked at me, giving off a little vibe of nervousness. Maybe I imagined it.

All I've ever seen, as far as any games being played at the park, is two Pee Wee football games attended by millions of crazed parents and the other times when a couple kids were playing a few basketball games. Anybody else you see in that park are walkers, runners, people trying to fish at a lake without fish and the park employees. Maybe once a week, you'll see a cop car run through the park. If you wanted to, you could probably get away with fucking, sucking, fisting, lickin' the va-jay-jay and other horseplay down at the large gazebo by the lake without too much trouble. Party time.


Anyway, the supply guy at the building says, ""It's getting colder out here."

I say, "Yeah, it is."

Hell, I don't know what else to say. Supply Guy didn't give me much to work with. By the way, it was getting colder. It was about 45 degrees Fahrenheit at the time. For the rest of you, in other countries, I have no idea what that is in Celsius. I won't check, either, because I'm American and don't give a shit. I think that's the American Way. The metric system can go fuck itself, too. The last person who tried to teach me the metric system was a nun from the parochial school I attended. I rammed a pencil in her eye. Not to worry, though. It was a No. 2 Pencil. And she cried out, "Praise da Lawd!"

After walking the usual path, I find a second person. He is walking toward me from the other direction. He looks like he could be crazy. He's wearing a grey coat with a black sock cap on his head. So I nod to him and do what most folks do in that situation. I say, "Hi.", without really looking at him. He does nothing but nod his head, not wanting to be bothered by my evil, intrusive greetings and keep his hands in his pockets. I wonder if he's hiding Barbie Doll heads in his pockets. Then I wonder if they still have the bathrooms locked or unlocked up ahead in the yellow building. I have problems with my butt. It likes to shit. Although I'm not at the stage of routine adult diaper wear, I have had an accident at the park because they will lock them when it gets closer to winter. During that accident, it was so cold... The turds froze to my leg underneath my pants. Talk about feeling blue... and brown.

When I got home, I was able to shake a leg to pop the turdcicles from the very bottoms of my pants legs.

Minutes go by during my walk now. I have to stop every five to ten minutes because of my foot conditions. I have inoperable 2 and a half inch heel spurs (my feet have been X-rayed so many times, I lost count) and equinus deformity on both feet. The heel spurs have connected to the rest of the bones in my footsies. It's like walking on railroad spikes with misshapen, unbalanced feet. I've tried everything so spare me the advice that I've heard a billion times. Thanks, anyway, stranger. I've done my time with the fancy insoles, shoes and whatever. I've had almost thirty years of experience with it. But I force myself to walk short distances, anyway, because I still need to exercise. It's called perseverance, people. I was going to the gym almost every day for a year and a half and lost thirty pounds but that routine got fucked up during the continuous moving fiasco with my dad's old place that lasted 6 weeks. Now, I'm just trying to keep up with my walking routine.

Regardless, I see a couple walking their pet dog. It has a pink outfit on. I restrain myself from killing the couple. I smile, then say, "Hi. How are you tonight?" They say something back but it doesn't matter. I'm not listening. I'm still thinking of the poor dog in the pink cowboy outfit. As I walk further, I wonder if it's too late to limp back and bash the couple in their heads, thus freeing the dog. Then I think, Well the next thing to happen, if successful, would be the dog rewarding me, with it's rescue of it, by biting a finger off from my hand and taking my nose off my face. Oh well. I keep walking. No good deed goes unpunished. This has always been especially true, in my experience.

In conclusion, I struggle through the rest of my walk, make it home in time before the wife, serve her and I supper and watch a couple shows that we pre-recorded the night before. We talk for awhile. My wife goes to bed early. She's tired. It's getting busier where she works. And now, I'm typing on this keyboard and telling you I'm about to sign off. Who knows? I may come to your blog and leave a comment. Ah, can you feel the excitement?

Behold! You are at the end of this journey I took you on, brave soldier. You must celebrate by flagellating yourself. Or by fixing yourself a hot cup of coffee. Your choice. I won't peek.

16 comments:

Gorilla Bananas said...

Man, that's a story to compare with One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. My suggestions are:
(1) try using an exercise bike; (2) wear a "nappy" when you walk in the park, which is the metric word for "diaper"; (2) persuade your wife to spank you regularly with a wooden spoon so you feel less guilty when you sleep.

Kelly said...

I have zero idea of who that guy is but I doubt it has much to do with the post. Your suggestion #1... I use an exercise bike when I go to the gym. I will be going back to the gym when I'll be able to. No, I don't own an exercise bike because I don't have the room to put one here. I think you're making assumptions without asking questions first. Your suggestion #2... I don't have to wear an adult diaper yet. The one accident I had in the park does not constitute a viable reason for wearing said 'diaper'. And suggestion #3, which I believe you meant when you typed (2), the spanking would not help because that has nothing to do with problems of guilt, which relates back to the time when my mother passed away and the details of that event.

Really, all this post was, was a semi-humorous lil' story. Not a plea for solutions or assumptions. Wow.

THE SNEE said...

Hi Kelly, I hate when my subconscious gets busy at night! That being said, sometimes a dream has a way of "speaking out" what you're desperately trying to ignore, which can actually be beneficial...Especially on a walk( one of my most favorite activities, I might add). Mr. GB got my curiosity going with his story reference, and I wikipediaed it(Is wikapedia even a verb?) Here's the explanation: "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich is a novel written by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, first published in November 1962. The story is set in a Soviet labor camp in the 1950s, and describes a single day of an ordinary prisoner, Ivan Denisovich Shukhov. Its publication was an extraordinary event in Soviet literary history—never before had an account of Stalinist repression been openly distributed." I wonder if he is as good at expressing pathos as you are. Have a Happy Thanksgiving Kelly!

Sir Tom Eagerly, knight of this realm said...

Good Morning/Evening Kelly. I want to assure you that Sir Tom categorically did not fall asleep half way through reading this post. Probably.
I should confess that it could have been due to the half bottle of 12 year old Royal Lochnagar single malt Scotch Whisky that I consumed previously. It has a slightly smoky, malty, vanilla taste with a 'long finish'. Very smooth and fruity, not unlike Sir Tom in fact.
Do you know it old boy?
Do have a grand Thanksgiving, won't you.

Jukka-Pekka said...

Dear Sir Tom,

I fell asleep after the cat was fed. Could you tell me how it finished?

Parhain terveisin

Gucci Mama said...

I think your biggest problem, my dear, is that you have a cat. When you allow that kind of unspeakable evil into your home, you're in for all sorts of unpleasantness.

Kelly said...

THE SNEE- Yeah, dreams do have a way of speaking out to you. I have been able to interpret a lot of my dreams, past and presently. I speculate that the most recent rash of dreams are ones of some "guilt" I might have. Whether it's justified or not, I don't know. Anyway, I find walks beneficial because they allow you to think about things more clearly, not to mention the health benefits.

I am transparent, honest and open with pretty much every thing going on these days. Don't know about the pathos part. It must depend on one's perspective. :) This blog acts as therapy for me, at times. Other times, it can be about something else, entirely. Mainly, this post was just a semi-humorous look at a typical day in my recent years of life.

Thanks for commenting. You're always welcome here.

And don't eat too much turkey or you'll start saying, "Gobble gobble gobble." Happy Thanksgiving!

Kelly said...

Sir Tom Eagerly... and so on- Good day, night, new dawn, solar eclipse, electrical storm and runaway turkeys to you. I feel so reassured that you didn't fall asleep probably that I'm going to sing out loud at once and chase the cat around the house. That will give him something to do. Hey, give me some of that there fancy schmancy malt liquor whiskey! It's nice to share!

Have yourself an overindulgent Thanksgiving! Burp.

Kelly said...

Jukka-Pekka- Gosh, you're witty. Still, Sir Tom is a better blog heckler.

Kelly said...

Gucci Mama- Nah, the cat is a definite benefit in this fine establishment. lol. No evil red aura surrounds him that I can see. :) Victor, in his own comforting ways, helped me through some dark times in the past. Hard to explain- unless you've been there.

Now you have yourself just the dandiest, rootin'-tootin', floor shootin' time ya can have this Thanksgiving! Take care.

klahanie said...

You know something? Yes? Fantastic!
Anyway, I'm absolutely exhausted and thought I should come and read your lil' ol' blog posting...to um...wake up...
Where am I? So enchanted was I by this outstanding bit of prose that I virtually crapped myself with joyous delight.
And your 'guilt dreams' are most likely, like my biggest fan, Gucci Mama, notes, are because you have a cat living with you. Kelly, the cat is performing mind control on your dream patterns. Now you must go and see if there is any ancient cat shit buried in the inner reaches of your sofa. You might get lucky and find some loose change, while you are there.
Hey buddy, you've made the big time. It seems that maybe you have more than one 'heckler', now. Then again, it might just be the same person. Sir Tom, where has thou goneth?
I'm off to howl at the full moon and have rampant sex with a fairy princess :-)

Kelly said...

klahanie- Yes, I think I might just know something, Gary ol' dude. I know, for instance, that the Wee Folk have been locked up in the tool shed for the last couple of hours. I sodomized the Fairy Princess while the gnomes watched and beat off. It was all a very elaborate and tasteful affair- as you can imagine.

Glad you were enchanted by my typical, sort of, anyway, day. lol. I wish I could blame that one part on the darn cat but I'm afraid I can't. If anything, he has helped me. Not like "he let me put a saddle on his back so I could ride him into a gold mining town" kind of help but I think you catch the drift.

Two hecklers is one too many. I wouldn't bother trying to have rampant sex with the princess. I wore all the elasticity out of that va-jay-jay. It looks like a big old, banged up rubber band, with a hole the size of the Grand Canyon, in the middle.

Sooooorrrrryyy. Have a decent day/night.

LilPixi said...

It was cool how I got to envision your day.

That's very interesting what you were told all those years ago combined with the dreams.
If I got onto the subject of bad dreams, I'd go on for a mile.
Just know that I know that hell. Dunno what I would do without MJ (& that's not Michael Jackson I'm talkin' about) Hehe

Kelly said...

LilPixi- Thanks! Yeah, I think it interesting, too. Something to it, definitely. I have no doubt that you do have some extensive knowledge of that subject, based on what you said in comments from the past. I've got a few "dream interpretations" books that I read way back when. One seemed like it would be dead-on. The other... not so much.

I value your input and I'm sure MJ is comforting to you. Not Michael Jackson? Well, I should have known. lol. Take care.

MartyrMom said...

Victor looks awfully regal and spoiled. He may be doing evil deeds. I had 5 cats and sometimes they would gang up on us and create all sorts of hell and havoc. Glad he didn't cause you to lose your jelly beans!(all my kitties were pound babies...never a problem with any of them...you just got a lemon)

I never heard a nun say "praise da Lawd!" are you sure she wasn't a spy from the Baptist Church?? You know they check out the Catholics all the time so they can tell the congregation how Idols are worshiped and all.

And maybe, just maybe the lack of sleep and general unwell feelings are coming from the waning full moon. You know that always makes the crazies come out!

PS I didn't fall asleep!

Kelly said...

MarytrMom- Yeah, Victor is awfully spoiled and he certainly thinks he's the king of our castle, er, apartment. And as a matter of fact, he has been doing many evil deeds. Deeds that he stopped doing after being trained when he was a kitten but now, after five years, he's going back to his bad old ways. For instance... He's knocking down trash cans again and chewing through wiring. He chewed on and destroyed my modem's power cord yesterday- which drove me insane. Not that I wasn't insane, already... but still. I think he's bored because he doesn't have a playmate any more. We'll fix that problem after Christmas. I try playing with him as often as I can. Yeah, that cat Max we had long ago was probably just a lemon but I still don't want to chance it. Glad to hear you're a cat person, too. 5 cats... Wow! Cats are easy to take care of, as long they're not too bored.

Lol. Yeah, that nun could've been a Baptist church spy. But I'm bettin' I was just being a crazy fool when I said she said 'praise da lawd' when I stuck a pencil in her eye (which I didn't... I'm nuts but not that nuts :). Tee hee. But you knew that already.

Forgive me father for I have sinned... I stuck some wood in the peng-gy winn!

I wish I could blame my lack of sleep on the moon. If I knew it was the moon's fault, I would nuke the sonofabitch.

P.S. Thank you for not falling asleep as some have said they did. Your prize is in the mail.

Related Posts with Thumbnails

  © Blogger template ProBlogger Template by Ourblogtemplates.com 2008

Back to TOP