smokingboot

From a strange dribbling individual. This is going to ramble a bit and I can't see others finding it interesting, so here comes the cut.

The last couple of days have been weird. Wednesday dawned with the grim comprehension that I really couldn't make the Lions event this weekend. That night I was a strange shambling mound at belly dancing, and came away from it drained and depressed, a situation only rescued by coffee with Can Do Anything, followed by tapas with Cyanidemigraine and Evilwillow. I went to bed, tired but content.

And then came Thursday. First, I received a well meant but demented message of a 'Beware the Ides of March' flavour regarding Maelstrom. I appreciate the solicitude behind the concern, but why assume problems before they arise? Life's too short.

I then discovered that said well meaning intuitive chum is fighting off problems of their own. These problems have been obvious to everyone around them for months, including myself. In typical smokingboot fashion, I have not found a good way of expressing my concern, so I have kept quiet. Now I am torn between real sympathy and a brutal desire to shake them and yell,'Oh for the love of God, wakey waykeeeeee!' We were on the phone for a long time. My job was to listen. I don't mind doing that, I'm just no good at it!

Thursday was eventually rescued by three occurences;

Occurrence no 1: Rehousing the gerbils. You may recall I came across a funky little gerbil in a pet shop. Said gerbil was so full of life, I wanted to rescue it from a boring little cage. All I could offer it was a bigger cage, but hey, it's better than nothing. 'Course, you can't rescue gerbils by themselves, so his best mate and lady friend came too.

Evilwillow kindly gave us Rotastak stuff to house them in, and they were very happy there, except for the fact that there was no real way of making tunnels and they were eating the plastic tunnel edges. Now they have the gerbilarium, a large fishtank filled with what looks like a soil lasagne; deciduous long twigs on the bottom of the cage layered with straw, peat and more long twigs on top. The little freaks have gone apeshit and are clearly constructing Airstrip One. Gerbils are born to tunnel, and these are fulfilling their destinies with a kind of berserk glee. Cute little rodents or amphetamine driven mini-morlocks? Only time will tell...

Occurrence number 2: a new addition to the bird life in the area. A sparrowhawk/ kestrel/as if I know came and sat on the fence near the window, his fierce demi-budgie face really close to mine, and just seeing him made the day better. He was so graceful, so powerful, and clearly so irritated at the inexplicable lack of sparrow/mouse in the immediate vicinity. Some lunatic part of me wanted to hang raw sausages and chops on the washing line to see what he'd do, but I declined. The neighbours think we're strange enough as it is.

And occurrence number 3? That happened by candlelight and shall remain untold. Let's just say it chases away all those nasty nerve-jarring vibes and left Smokingboot in a much better mood. Just in time for a weekend of work, writing, work, more writing and work...