Yeah, it’s that time again:
RICE
Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation.
Friendly advice from my neighbourhood nurse practitioner for a sprained ankle.
And an X-Ray of my left ankle at the Crestwood Diagnostics and Imaging Center in case I have more than sprained the middle-aged joints, ligaments or tendons.
Where, conveniently, coincidentally, serendipitously, I was X-rayed by a GE Precision machine*.
‘Tis a small world.
Which reminds me, I’m way behind in my thanks: Chad at Pizza Hut, Caleab at Atlanta Bread Company, Hailey at Dreamland Bar-B-Que, LaDana at Panera, Rainy/David/Penny at Thai Garden, Sydney at Carson’s Grille, Bridgit at Shaggy’s Burgers & Tacos, Mary L at Taco Bell, Murriel/Maria at Publix and all the others who’ve been helpful when my memorisation technique was not turned on.
*BTW, a little website precision would be useful at http://www.gehealthcare.com/euen/r_f/products/classical_rf/products/preci500d.html, where the following misspelling occurs:
Precision 500D
Built with the user in mind, the Percision 500D is recognized for its ease of use, simplicity, and reliability while providing exceptional images with less dose.
Good thing GE’s not depending on the web publishing business to make a profit (do we thank the English or the Chinese for these spelling lessons?). 😉
Language of Love: Chapter Word
This morning, while building my animatronic choir that’ll sit in the backseat of the Dodge, I had an epic epiphany (not a hissy fit, as they say down here).
By combining the Dragon NaturallySpeaking software with a link to Google Translate, I have created a group of mimicking monsters.
Thus, when I sit down with my parroting cabal, they speak back to me in their own language.
For instance, I sit down in the car seat, start the engine and say, “Hello.”
The fuzzy creatures in the back respond with “hello” but each in a language chosen for their characters.
Franz the Bavarian says, “Guten tag.”
The Finnish supermodel, modeled on Miss Piggie, says, “hyvää päivää.”
And on and on, over to Lou the Lao who says, “sabai di.”
It’s even funnier to hear them try to interpret themselves in the second round of parroting.
That’s why Polly the Parrot is programmed to whistle loudly every once in a while to signal the choir to pipe down and listen to my voice only.
I’ve got to figure out how to get each doll to respond to its name only and not have the whole crew responding to me when I say something like, “Franz, h0w is the bratwurst today?” [to which he is supposed to respond comically, “I am no worse than yesterday. How are you?” Artificial intelligence? You decide.]
Where are Ferrante and Teicher when you need a good, playful piano duo for a wedding reception?
And so, the meditation on the temporariness of temporal tempura begins.
The invisible is made visible only where the spotlight is not in the limelight.
My husband’s gray hair is proof I don’t provide stress-reducing support for him
Today is a day of meditation.
I slipped off a sidewalk two days ago, something went “crunch!” and swelling of the left ankle has bothered me with its accompanying pain ever since.
Thoughts/emotions form and disappear, related to our time together on this planet, during alternating aspirin and Tylenol pain-relieving periods.
The depression of ennui settles in.
Basic concepts flash in my mind’s eye…
Self-vs-other.
Other-vs-universe.
Self-vs-self.
Self-and-universe-vs-other.
Self-as-nonself versus nothing.
Drawing a blank on a blank piece of paper.
Debating the benefits of debating a baited debate.
Silence as art (cue P.D.Q. Bach).
This mortal visage cries for immortality/immutability/vitality of self, rather than immortality of ephemeral spirit in another realm/afterlife!
Gold for Black Gold
The Day The Earth Still Stood
A part of me dies every day.
Yet, I don’t know why.
Violence is inherent in the system, I know.
Alpha behaviour is part of the game of life on this planet.
Fairness is an illusion.
A bear takes a bite out of a live fish and tosses it aside because it doesn’t taste good, regardless of whether the fish, fat with eggs, is the last in its family line.
We murder one another over useless arguments.
Tens of thousands of us die on roadways for no reason.
McDonald’s and other fastfood fried “potato” sticks probably contribute to more obesity-related deaths in one month than nuclear technology has killed in its manmade existence.
Yet, we badmouth nuclear technology like it’s the plague.
I am of my species.
There is no doubt.
I know things that I should and things that I shouldn’t, and don’t understand half of what I know.
The power of the written word affects my species directly and the rest of the beings of this planet indirectly.
Pictures speak louder than words, except when words are pictorial representations of themselves.
Words are never examples of themselves to themselves.
They are not conscious.
They have no conscience.
Consciousness and conscience are words, concepts, ideas that lead to relativistic moral arguments/discussions.
Discussions that lead to death on individual, subcultural and genocidal levels.
If members of my species act unconscionably, killing my leftover childhood innocence little by little, and all the symbology that developed in my thoughts during my formative years is completely rearranged, who am I?
In the Biblical teaching of my upbringing, the story of Sodom and Gomorrah was often repeated.
Setting aside the argument/discussion concerning the existence of a Supreme Being, I am left with the lessons of life presented to me by my elders when I was a child and by my peers (the whole species) during the rest of my life.
What are you teaching me?
What am I teaching you?
The scientific method is equivalent to a religious practice these days, taught to everyone regardless of religious belief.
Who am I?
How do I reconcile the teachings of other versus their practice and use both as examples for how to live the rest of my life?
If I was Klaatu, and truly understood that the evolution of a planet includes nonmoral, normal wholesale changes that wipe out complete ecosystems periodically, would I still believe that my selfdestructive species, Homo sapiens, deserved to live to populate the cosmos?
[NSFW] Failing the Polite Society Test: Chapter in Support of Free Speech
The responsibility of a free society lies primarily in protecting citizens from the negative consequences of their worst behaviours.
Whatever that means is whatever it means at a specific place and time.
But I’d rather show than tell.
Thus, the rest of this entry is NSFW (not safe for work), protecting the rights of citizens to express themselves creatively and make them think before they act.
Wherever we travel into the galaxy, our past travels with us into the future. How do you want to represent the past in the moment, here, on Mars, or elsewhere?
If you are under 18 years of age or not under the supervision of your parents while reading this, I ask you to stop here.
= = = = =
Rewired
I looked at the dishwasher and saw a Dodge slant-6,
I looked at the vacuum cleaner and saw a Chevy V-6,
I looked at the lawnmower and saw a Honda Goldwing,
I looked at everything that moved and said,
“By golly, that needs improving…I think I’ll rewire it.”
I looked at my wife and saw a 302 C.I. big block,
I looked at the rugrat and saw a Kawasaki 90,
I looked at the dog and saw a Black and Decker mulcher engine,
I looked at the cat and saw a Stihl chainsaw engine,
I looked at the man in the mirror and saw a Sears hedge trimmer,
I looked at everything that moved and said,
“By golly, that needs improving…I think I’ll rewire it.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – -<
Now my dishwasher competes on drag strips,
My vacuum cleaner spits out strips of carpet,
And my lawnmower circles around Mars.
Now, I look at everything that moves and say,
“By golly, that needs improving…I think I’ll have a beer.”
Now my wife nags me 24 hours a day,
My rugrat races teenagers at red lights,
My dog eats Jeep Cherokees for breakfast,
My cat shreds couches into compost,
And I just shaved off my chin.
Western Myth-takes
We rode along, galloping, gallivanting,
Our horses not sure where to take us,
Our minds searching for some profound thought
To justify the deeds we planned that night.
Our leader called himself Jesse
(Though we knew he’d been Mark’d)
And spoke of futures without laws
Against “shootin’ a man and takin’ his ol’ lady.”
We rode through pinewood forest,
Across lonesome prairies and over mountain gaps;
The night, in fact, obligatory,
Wore on enough to get us thinking.
“Jesse,” we thought in unison,
“Are you the Man to lead us
Or do we choose another path?
Do you lead or are we just followin’?
“You showed us words like anarchy
And gave us free rein to fuck or kill
Whatever supposed lady came our way.
How could we resist your promises?”
As moon and stars rounded overhead
And creatures plenty, whose dark silhouettes
We identified with cautious glances,
Spoke in tongues, we rode along.
My wife, she said my leaving wouldn’t bring
Fortune or fame to our family,
That I just wanted to escape
The ugliness of responsibility.
Jesse knew how to shut her up,
With a pocket full of gold
And a wanted poster stolen from a dead sheriff
(And his posse of pussies).
Soon, we entered the fate-filled town
Where Jesse planned to pull a job
With his ragged men he liked to call
His rugged band of warriors.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s ditch these duds
And get us a ride with some real horsepower!”
So we stole some Mustangs, Pintos and Broncos
And traded our chaps for Polo and Halston.
Like that kid in a candy store,
Our eyes and pockets opened wide;
The people in this Shangri-La
Let us pick and choose to our delight.
All we had to do was point to Jesse –
Then everyone bowed down, like Mayans,
And yelled, “Praise the legend of the West!”
We’d execute their democratic ways on the spot.
We served our time with Jesse proudly,
Teaching folks that “government and corporations
Serve no one and enslave everyone
So break your chains and steal ’em blind.”
When Jesse lost his life to another love
That all us guys mistakenly call a wife,
We placed a wreath beneath a naked dancer
At our favorite waterin’ hole – Th’Catch.
Susan was a nymphomaniac. At times, it was pretty hard to quench her sexual thirst. Her unsatisfied desires usually ran into early morning, and more than once, it took a whole weekend to meet her demands. One Saturday morning, sometime in the summer of last year, I was over at her house while her parents were gone.
“Lee,” she said, stroking my forearm gently, “what are you thinking about?”
I replied in a whisper which gave away my thoughts before I made them audible. “I’m thinking of that empty bed upstairs.”
She smiled at me. We both got up and climbed the stairs while we caressed each other with each rising step. Already, I could sense her frenzied passion swelling as we continued on into the bedroom.
We undressed each other, exploring the lines and curves in a ritual orgiastic dance as old as time. We were driven by some inner force that would not stop until we were totally exhausted.
Of this I was sure as we climbed into bed, I would never forget these early sojourns into the adult world, although many of my friends had practiced the dance. No one could tell we were only nine years old by the way we acted that day or anytime since.
The heat built up as our invigorations grew more and more and…MORE…intense. After many nights together in the past, she knew just how to stroke me and further arouse the tiger in me. I never roared, I only bit and scratched and claimed her territory as my kingdom.
“Susan, ohhh…it feels so good! Please! Give me more,” I shouted as we reached the climax of our adventure.
She spoke in a high-pitched voice, saying, “Oh, Lee! I can’t stop myself. Give ME more!” in an ever increasing flurry of words amid moans of sensuous pleasure.
Several hours later, after much territory had been thoroughly explored, we sat back and rested against the back of the bed.
I looked out the window, thinking back on her nymphomaniacal tendencies, and saw that the spaceship was close approaching Earth, a planet that Susan and I, being native-born Plutonians, had never seen.
“Just, think, Susan, in a few more hours we will get to hear the great Freudian expert, Dr. Long Dong Duck, teach us the meaning of life.”
Dr. Duck cleared his throat. “It is with great pleasure and satisfaction that I welcome you to Earth. I know you must have heard the results of the latest erection…I mean, election. Our colleague, Dr. Getitup, has just won the Solar System Presidency heads above the rest.” The audience applauded with great enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes. Well, let’s get on with the lecture, shall we?
“Sigmund Freud, who made many different psychoanalytic theories in the 19th century, most emphasized the theory of sexuality and the effect of sex on infantile and adult behavior. This contribution to the field of psychoanalysis brought to mind many questions which Freud explored about the basics of man’s sexual drive, known as libido, and its influence on what he does and his reaction to the environment.
“Not only did Freud include what is generally accepted as ‘normal’ sexual behavior in his theory (normal, of course, for the 19th century), he also explained the different types of perverts – those persons whose sexual activities deviate from the ‘normal’ concept of sex – and the cause for their perversions. He classed the different types of sexually-driven people according to the direction they took their sexual activities.
“The term ‘sexual’ means something which combines references to the difference between the sexes, to personal and shared pleasurable excitement and gratification, to the function of reproduction, and to the idea of impropriety and the need for concealment. This definition explains that which should be referred to as normal sexual behavior. Anything that is extra or goes past this is not normal and to the same degree, if it is focused in one direction and the sexual activity does not include all the aspects of the usage of the word sexual, then it is said to be not normal, either. In other words, if you’re feel inclined to satisfy yourself sexually, then go for it with whomever and whatever you can get your hands on.” The audience laughed.
“These activities which stray from normal behavior are said to be perverse and people who indulge in the activities are referred to as perverts. So, as can be seen, the term sexual is not always sufficient because certain classes of perverts are only aroused by those of the same sex and thus have foregone the participation in the process of reproduction. These perverts or inverts can be, and often are, as normal as those who lead a normal sex life, and have mental and physical developments completely full grown and only possess this one unusual peculiarity of sexual desire. The inversion can usually be traced back to infancy, when children believed that all sexes were alike or the inverts can only express their sexual feelings with members of the same sex.
“Sexual perverts may be grouped into two classes: those who have their object of sexual gratification altered and those in whom the sexual aim has been altered. The first group include those who have dispensed with the union of genitalia and to which they have substituted the genitals of someone of the same sex, other parts of the body, a particle of clothing or some object, or other more extreme forms of sexual desire in place of the normal forms of sex which lead to the act of reproduction. Those of the second group may seek pleasure in looking or touching bodies, watching others perform sex, exposing hidden body parts, or those in whom all affectionate feelings are sought through pain and torture, as in sadists who cause pain to others, or masochists, who want pain, humiliation, or torture to themselves – all of these may seek gratification in reality or imagine it in their own minds, thus dividing all groups again in two.
“Freud said that all distorted sexual behaviors of perverts could be traced back to infancy. A child passes through certain sexual stages and if, during a stage, a child is suppressed from normal sexual development, both mentally and physically, then the child has a tendency to carry on characteristics of abnormal sexual activities on into adult sex participation. The tendencies vary according to how and to what extent the child was suppressed. In some cases, the child may have been encouraged to perform sexual acts with adults and this can also lead to abnormalities or perversions.
“Infantile sexuality begins at birth and reaches a climax towards the end of the fifth year. Here, the child falls victim to infantile amnesia. Sexual life advances once more with puberty, although the child may explore the body with others during the pre-teen years but in both cases, the child learns more about sexuality.
“The first organ to emerge as an erotogenic, or sexually excitable zone, from the time of birth onwards, is the mouth. It is first evident when the baby sucks at the mother’s breast, when the need of nourishment is satisfied and he gains an increase in pleasure as many nursing mothers can testicle…I mean, testify.” Many members of the audience snickered.
“As the child further becomes conscious of himself, another area becomes filled with the capability for sexual pleasure: the anus. This gives rise to the acknowledgement of other erogenous areas at a junction of skin and mucous membrane such as the vagina in females. At first, pleasure comes from the satisfaction of emptying the bowels, but then there is an additional pleasure in the sensation of retaining the contents of a full rectum.
“The third and final physical pleasure of infancy is the discovery of the genital area as a means of sexual satisfaction. This may be first noticed in a child by such accidental sensations as being dried after a bath, or feeling the movement of air on the genital regions. As a child develops physically, he may become aroused when playing with other children, especially during romping and wrestling together. The child does not have anything to do with the act of reproduction or with sexual activity in adult life.
“Freud believed that the child’s first intimate human relationship is normally with the mother. The child holds a secret feeling of jealousy and competitiveness toward his father, whom he perceives as a rival for the mother’s affection. To this situation, Freud gave the name of the Oedipus complex. The Oedipus complex has to be conceived as the child’s real but repressed fear that the father will castrate him in retaliation for the exclusive possession of the mother. No infant could formulate this fear into words, but it is very real.
“The repression of the Oedipus complex and others like it, are said to be the cause of the deceptive calm of the latency period, which usually lasts from about five to eleven years of age. A child then begins the period of puberty where the child further develops mentally and physically, leading to the adult life. If the child has not been suppressed, then a normal sex life can be expected. If a child has been suppressed, then the sex life of a child when it has become an adult is usually altered and may have no connections with the concept of sexuality at all.
“In conclusion, Sigmund Freud received so many protests and denials from other psychologists that he revised his theory of sexuality several times and only later did he finally become the respected psychologist we revere today. He said that the libido of humans was the basis of all of man’s actions and that anything could be connected to the sexual drive of man.
“Are there any questions?”
“Yes, Dr. Duck, my name is Lee Colline. I am nine years old and me and my friend Susan here like to get each other off. I know my other friends enjoy wrestling around together and all that, but Susan and I actually get off sexually. Is that normal?”
“Well, Mr. Colline, I wouldn’t let the word get out on that one.” The audience laughed. “You might just become a celebrity on the interplanetary talk show circuit. But seriously, as long as you two enjoy each other, I see nothing wrong with what you’re doing.”
“I’ve got one more question.  Is it true what they say that Earth has become such a repressed world that perversion here is considered normal?”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Colline, I’m afraid what you said is true. I’ve got a copy of Earth Today in front of me and here is the lead story in the Life section…
“‘Looking for that vacation spot with a difference? The other day, I stopped in the little town of Harrisburg, PA, drawn to its antique shops and riverside park…
‘There is a bar next door which stands silent and aloof during the day, but at night, it opens its doors and allows in the whispering homosexuals who perform their rituals and orgies in the half-dark – sucking females engaging each other and holding hands, unspeakingly proclaiming their immoral thoughts so that no secret is hidden from the lesbian eyes all around, the lips which kiss other gay lips.
‘And the DJ pounds away all the while, bouncing off the walls in her little cell, shaking her fat arms in a celebration of sex, hallucinating on dreams of sucking out every pussy in the joint, sucking and rubbing on a hundred different clits until her mountainously fat breasts are sleek and slippery with lesbianic love, shoving her fingers in anything and sucking the tastes of and licking shaven assholes, and the brown titties of the two black dykes are her dessert as she probes negro twats and lies naked and helpless as she is in turn probed by a hundred fingers.
‘Then the gray lesbian bartender tucks her in and gives her a kiss, a wet kiss on the lips, slipping her tongue in and out before mounting the fat girl’s face and shrouding it with gray, wrinkled lips.
‘For now the D-Gem Cocktail Lounge rests silently, brewing its potion of homosexual love in preparation for the evening’s dark games, games played by obese women who kiss like children who have never kissed anything, large clumsy kisses, arms around shoulders; and then they smile idiotically at one another in the giddiness of their shameful act.
‘Around them are other gay women, dressed like men and sporting short spunky haircuts, holding hands with another who understands, sipping drinks slowly beneath mysterious eyes that hide recipes for homosexual pleasure. They do not crave the taste of a warm cock exploding cum down their throats, they abhor sucking on a titty with hair. They long only for another pair of soft, fleshy breasts and the bittersweet taste of a dripping pussy, munching on a clit as the soft, feminine body beneath quivers and gyrates in ecstatic frenzy.
And I walked unawares into the middle of this homosexual church as the lesbians prayed in their flirting way, dancing slowly and closely.’
“This is not a product of a normal sexual society. A normal society would allow others to practice their perversions in complete privacy and not have to meet in dark alleyways or nightclubs. Yes, Mr. Colline, Sigmund Freud would turn over in his grave were he to see where our planet has gone since the Supreme Court of Earth banned heterosexual marriages and declared them a menace to society. You should feel fortunate to come from the Plutonian colony where they do not make laws concerning human sexual activity.”
Love/Hate/Admire/Ashame
As an investor in GE’s savings&security plan, I commend Jeff Immelt for moving one of GE’s business unit headquarters to China.
As an American, I’m ashamed of him.
Jeff has let the stock market manipulation games begin.
It’s your turn, reader. Can you keep up?
One Letter Less Turns Slaughter Into Laughter: Chapter Clouded With Belladonna
|
20 February 1991, 10:20 p.m.
To whomever is lucky enough to read this letter: Funny, how our past catches up with us. Sometimes I wonder if we could stop the future and just spend time repairing the mistakes of the past. I guess not, huh? Too bad cause all this mess could have been avoided if you had taken back most of what you did or said to me. As you know by now, several of your employees have died of unknown causes. [I wish I could tell you everything that’s going through my head right now but I’m afraid I haven’t got the time. It’s a beautiful day outside and I must take care of the herb garden. Make hay while the sun shines and all that.] I remember when I first started working for you guys. What’s-her-face from marketing told me what a wonderful opportunity I would have working for an environmental services company. Her words still ring in my head: “Well, working for us sure will be fun, I can tell you that. But I think you’ll find your background is an asset for you here. Biology is important in many fields. As we move into sampling, we’ll need people who understand what kind of microorganisms are floating around in sewer systems. That’s why I encourage you to pursue your master’s degree. You can never know too much.” Did she really believe I would fall for that? I suppose you’ll have a lot of questions to ask me after you read this letter. Only, you won’t be able to find me. I’m packing up my bag of “medicinal” herbs and moving somewhere away from a town that’s more concerned about defense budgets than the people in it. Before I go, I want to share my reasons for helping along your company’s attrition rate. I also want to chew on a couple of more jimsonweed seeds. (Despite what the medical books say, if you grow your own you can get a pretty good gauge of how harmful or useful the so-called toxic plants can be.)
I’m tired of wasting my time thinking up words and phrases to write in this letter. Instead, I’m going to let my past do the talking. A diary can say a lot about a person. April 9 – My boss does not appreciate my biology degree. All Patty wants are pretty reports for the customer. I wish I could show her that I have more in my head than little cog wheels that spit out numbers like a computer. Bob asked me out yesterday. I want to go out with him but I don’t want to risk an office romance even if he’s good-looking and not a creep. I wish someone could tell me what to do. April 15 – Mom and Dad called. I want to go home to see them but I always seem to be too busy with work. I sure miss them. April 20 – Have started an herb garden in the window sill with oregano, purple ruffled basil and thyme. Should really make the guys think I can cook. Ha! May 1 – Bob is a jerk. Says he’ll tell everyone I’m a slut if I don’t go out with him again. Do guys really think sex is everything? I know he’s probably a nice guy overall but I refuse to go out with a guy who uses sex as leverage. Midterms coming up. Can’t decide if I should study at home or at work. Patty always finds something for me to do at work but I like studying at my desk. She knows how important these classes are for me. Why does she keep pressuring me? May 11 – I found this wonderful book on herbs. Not only does it show how to grow and prepare herbs for cooking but it has a section on medicinal uses. If I can find the right combination, I could cure cancer or something. It’s an idea, anyway. May 18 – One week later and what have I got to show for myself? I haven’t been on a date for 3 weeks and classes have been a real bitch. May 20 – If I have to do this data analysis for much longer, I’m going to scream. I can’t take this pressure much longer. I’ve got to find a way to relax. June 20 – I got A’s in all 3 classes! I’ll celebrate by eating some psilocybin mushrooms with some friends this weekend. Cal has a ruby laser so we should have some fun. June 24 – I feel guilty for calling in sick but I ate too many mushrooms. I can still see tracers two days later as if my hand was a comet streaking by my face although my thought processes are not as intense (I’m also very tired). I now realize that my life is a dead end. Either I go or something else gives. I can’t take this lifestyle of a worthless job and night classes without some means of relief. Tomorrow will tell. June 30 – Several days have passed since my last entry. I have so much to say and very little time to put these words down. I have come up with a plan. Not only do I have a purpose in life but I’ve found a way to get out of this job. I went back over the herb book I bought and found that some herbs have lethal capabilities if taken in large doses. Since I signed that contract at work that says I can’t work for a competitor company for the next three years I’ve decided to go on my own. I’m going to start a mail-order business for herbal poisons. The ads will say that I can get rid of any pests in people’s households or workplaces. Before I start the business, I’ve got to test my products. I think I’ll start with my boss. Nobody likes her anyway. July 10 – I’ve found that by sprinkling small aamounts of powdered foxglove leaves in the coffee, I can cause the heavy coffee drinkers to vomit during the day. Because so few people in my area drink lots of coffee, no one around me has noticed the number of sick people at work. This gives me more time to test my herbs. July 24 – I’m tired but I want to talk to someone right now. Of all the people, why did Blayne have to eat the candy? I had been saving it in a desk drawer in my office to test on the right person. Why did he have to go through my desk to die? A car wreck would have been less cruel. At least now I know that hemlock really kills but Blayne. . . he was a bit nerdy but he didn’t deserve to die. Oh, god, what have I become? I’d rather have killed my boyfriend – he deserves to die more than poor, innocent Blayne. July 28 – I placed my first ad in the back of a local gardening magazine. I hope it’s true what they say that 3% of the people who see an ad, respond to it. August 2 – What a pity that a small country like Kuwait has to be a target of a petty tyrant like Saddam Hussein. Don’t people know that the higher you climb, the harder you fall? August 7 – Patty really gets on my nerves sometimes. Today she called me self-centered and egotistical. She’s the one who’s more concerned about the way people see her at work than I am. August 9 – My first order! All the way from Dothan, too. Listen to this request: “Please send me an ounce of your pennyroyal oil. I have a pest in my house, similar to fleas, that spends all my money. You claim that pennyroyal oil tastes like mint and kills all household pests. Well, I hope my little pest likes mint tea.” August 10 – Order #2. More pennyroyal oil. August 12 – Another tragic death at work (no cynicism here) – my boss. She ate the grape jelly (mixed with a little mayapple) I put on her desk. I got the idea from a “Murder, She Wrote” episode and replaced the jar with a clean grape jelly jar on the floor. The paramedics say she choked to death. I couldn’t help but nod my head in agreement cause I know she choked to death on her own words. August 15 – Since Bob has left me alone for several months now, I have decided to give him a present. While I was at the farmers’ market last Saturday, a lady from New Orleans sold me an aphrodisiac called yohimbe. I looked up its usefulness and found that it not only “causes a tingling sensation in the genitals” but it also causes “psychic reactions resembling anxiety.” Needless to say, Bob will be anxiously awaiting his next date. [Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a bad horror film.] September 21 – The past month has been a busy one. I’ve been busting my butt at work during the day and harvesting all my herbs at night filling orders. I wish I could say more but I’m pooped. November 4 – The count is now 4. The last one to die was Bob who ate some of the nightshade berries I had added to a bowl of blueberries in the break room. I find it rather fitting that he died from the berries of the plant whose nickname is belladonna or “beautiful lady.” We can’t really call him a lady killer, can we? November 26 – Mom and Dad think something is the matter with me. I’m not their little girl anymore and I think they don’t like that. December 12 – Work is getting slow. I hope I don’t have to depend on my mail order business just yet. Besides, I’ve been there too long. They wouldn’t fire me. January 24 – Orders are up and not a moment too soon. I’m working on a project without a project number to charge to. I won’t last long at work. February 12 – Well, the inevitable happened: they fired me. Anyway, it’s time to move on before I’m caught with my herbs although owning them is not a crime like with pot or coke or something. I don’t even think there’s a law against selling toxic herbs for pest control. Better to be safe than sorry. I may not have been your best employee but I was one of the best. So what if I admitted that sewer analysis is not my planned career? Henry Miller didn’t tell his employers he was going to write “Tropic of Cancer.” Enough of my words. I believe my actions have said plenty. With my deepest regrets, Renada Lotcyan |