He had rainbow eyes
Mal and a wise friend
Fly free, Angel
I'm real and raw, I'm irreverent, I have tattoos, and I tend to liberally sprinkle my conversation with profanity. Don't like, don't read and then complain. Should you do so, I will have to assume that you are the kind of person who is too stupid to avoid walking into a pit which has glaring neon signs and a barrier fence around it.
List 2 things you have to be happy about?
I'm happy that my son is part of my life. I wish that other members of the family would accept him as he is. He is high-functioning autistic and just talking to him you wouldn't know he's any different from people who are neurologically "normal." My mother insists that he isn't actually autistic because he doesn't have any extreme behaviors and his intelligence is higher than average. She thinks he should be able to just go out and get a job. He's never been able to hold a job because he becomes overwhelmed and then gets depressed. I get tired of arguing with her about it. I hope someday he finds a job he can do, because I think it will give him a sense of accomplishment. However, I don't think he's any less worthy because he hasn't yet.
I guess I'm happy that I have a job, even if the pay isn't great. I have a lot of health issues. My job allows me to make my own schedule and doesn't require punching a time clock or working a certain number of hours. However, the pay is extremely variable (I deliver food and pay depends on tips and number of orders run.) I say I guess I'm happy about it because a lot of the time I don't want to work at all. Call me lazy if you want. I refuse to call myself that anymore. That word has given me such a complex that I feel guilty about resting, ever.
I'm kind of a huge fucking dork, and I love plays on words. See if you can spot the "rock" in the image I shared. He isn't jewelry, but he is a gem. I gave him some jewelry in the form of a copper bracelet for protection from unwanted energies. I don't think he'd much care to be referred to as a pet.
Are you a hugger or a non-hugger?
I really don't like to be touched. I did hug my statuette before I put him back in the display case, where he watches over the ashes of two of my best friends: my beloved cats, Lafayette and Trinity.
Lafayette died on his sixth birthday, and I will never get over losing him. He was very special. He was a small cat but always a big kitten. He lived in the shelter from the time he was a month old until I adopted him when he was eight months old. He had quite a few health problems which all seemed to be minor. He was from a feral colony, and, I imagine, he was probably quite inbred, but that didn't matter to me. He died from kidney failure. I've always wondered if I'd gotten him to the vet sooner if I could have had him for longer.
Whenever I show my tattoos, I so often get the kind of person who feels the need to comment that they don't like tattoos. I don't care if you don't like tattoos. Don't like them, don't get them. There's no need to be snotty about someone else's choice, particularly when the tattoo has personal meaning for them.
I've never had the money to get a tattoo honoring Trinity, but here is a picture of her. She died at age 10 from brain and lung cancer.
I have been having trouble being inspired to write at all, which is why I've resorted to puking out personal crap that nobody wants to hear about. Oh, hell, let's be honest, nobody wants to read my stupid stories either. I wish I could go back to wanting to write them anyway.
All the lights have died somehow, or were they ever there?