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Those
Crazy Bastards and Their Flying Monkeys
I
often wonder about our water here in town. I think perhaps it contain the
components to set off mental retardation in most of the residents. There is
a giant magnet under the soil as well you know which affects the brain waves
of the most disturbed people who come through on the interstate and causes
them to veer off into town and settle here.
It’s
true. I have seen it first hand, from the chic who has devil horns in her
hair to the man convinced that there is a conspiracy involving the alcohol
industry in town. We are just a well-rounded ball of fucking nuts.
Every day as I drive to work, I see at least one of the aluminum foil
crowned weirdoes walking the streets without a leash. I lock my doors as I
pass in my car, afraid in some warped way they will start running after me
screaming, “Brains!”
I
have to get out of here. I have been carefully saving my hours at work and
I have just enough for a week in London. I have 57 days to wait and every
one feels like an eternity in the bowels of this sandy desert town.
In
New Mexico, our tourism can be summed up simply as,
“Come see the nuclear test sites, our hanta virus, bubonic plague and other
fascinating limb dropping amusements!” Maybe I exaggerate a bit, but only
just a bit. I am convinced there is some inherent evil here, something that
seeps up from the ground and affects everyone. In my case, anger. At least
I am not parading around town in only a tee shirt proclaiming to the police,
my boyfriend, whose name I do not know, just stole my dog in the middle of
sex.
Yes,
that happened.
Only
57 days. I can do this. I can get through work in a basement, wind howling
through the door and I can relax and enjoy the sites and sounds of London
again. My boss is on vacation, so I take advantage of this having a mini
vacation in the office myself, able to get organized and caught up. I’m so
responsible it’s sickening.
The
little breaks in life make it worth living I think. I have a wonderful
outlet about twice a year now, to just not worry about anything and enjoy
myself. That is an art unto itself. Many just do not have the ability to
find the simplicity in life and it is a shame. In this town, it’s a luxury
it seems. That, and massive amounts of drugs. Apparently someone isn’t
getting his or her recommended daily allowance of "shut the fuck up you
crazy bastard" brand pills.
57
days, no wait, 56 days and 21 hours! Bon Voyage! |
