March 28th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

Something Something Saturday

Based on what we know so far, this is my theory about the plane crash in the French Alps:

We know from a neighbor of the co-pilot as he was growing up that flying was his one and only dream. All of his career moves were meant to get him into the pilot's seat. He wanted to fly. And he got there, he was realizing his dream. Sometime during this, he acquired a medical ailment that would, if known about, prevent him from flying. He hid this illness. On the day of the crash, he had been declared by his doctor as "unfit to fly". But he flew anyway. His mind must have been roiling. As he struggled with a future of broken dreams, and went down the spiral into desperation, an opportunity presented itself, the pilot left the cockpit. In the co-pilot's desperate mind, he saw an out. Go out flying. And in his desperation, I believe his mind was solely on himself and his life. I don't believe that the souls sitting behind him even entered into his mind.

That's my story. In it, it doesn't matter if the illness is mental or physical, because I don't believe that has anything to do with what happened. It was going to prevent him flying. That is what mattered. Pure, sane, ambition and dreams.

In the course of talking to Doc about it last night, I also came up with the most wrong joke I think I have ever come up with. It is so wrong that I dare not even tweet it. With my luck it would be the one tweet that would go viral. I can't chance that. It is that wrong. I'll type it here, because you guys know me. You know I'm not really heartless, and that my brain just pops up with stuff with no regard for anyone else and I usually edit it when it comes to this. "I went hiking in the French Alps and all I got was this lousy foot." Don't judge me. I'm not going to teach it to a frat or post it on 4chan or reddit. It just popped into my head and Doc and I were fucked up enough to laugh at it, we are both sick puppies when it comes to humor.

We had decided to go to the Bellagio early this morning. But he slept until almost 11, then picked up the computer. So I went back to sleep and woke up at three. It's now the heat of the day. And he's asleep. I don't know weather to be pissed or not. I'm sorely tempted to grab the fiver off the table and go myself. But that's not really protocol around here. That would get me a BOLO and a likely ride home from the cops. No thanks.

I think I will go out for a smoke and then come in and see what Pinterest has to offer in the way of new Photoshop tutorials.
2013, cyd, new

Take a Chance on Me

I'm listening to Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" on repeat. Trying to draw up some kind of emotion other than anger. Almost got it with the second play through. But nope. On to Big Country's "Look Away" live.

The laptop keeps overheating. It is becoming a real problem.

Doc told me last night that he hasn't talked to B (who still has both scooters) for two weeks. He heard from him once, when B texted, asking of Doc knew where he could find some "snow". Let me say right here, unequivocally that Doc and I are not, NOT, drug dealers. B, who has known us for four years, knows this bloody well. And to ask is just another insult. Doc didn't even answer him. So we have no idea the status of the scooters, and I can't even, anymore.

Doc has to pick up another script for me, and this time it's Seroquel, and I CAN'T run out of those. But he has no transportation during the day. The buses out here are scarce, unless you just want to travel down Tropicana to the Strip. Those come every 20 minutes.

Oh, see, now we're back to Fabulous Disaster's "Rich Bitches in Volvos". Love this song. And apparently I did not delete "Baby Elephant Walk" from the play list. It's a fave.

Chewy is too hot outside, but too proud to come in as long as a cat is out there. And Vader and Teeny are out there, so he is. I can't walk him because the pavement is too hot and will burn his wittle paws. This is the time we switch over to morning walks. The time of sunset walks has passed for the season.

I heard more evidence regarding the prior state of mind of the Germanwings co-pilot today, and must amend my story. It looks like there was a mental health issue there. Pity. I mean, that just sucks. All that death. Because of one unhealthy mind. Allegedly. Piss on it.

I'm thinking of making t-shirts that say, "I'm psychotic and have a Zero Kill Rate". How do you think those would go over with the advocacy crowd? The anti-stigma bunch? I would proudly wear it. Now, this, I will tweet. There, tweeted and hashtagged all to hell. No one will respond to it, but a lot of people will read it.

Doc is up. I'm keeping custody of the computer for a while more. He can suck it. Ha! The minute I get up to smoke or go to the bathroom or go to take my Xanax, this machine will be his for the rest of the damn night. I may as well not fight it. Abba is playing, this is a good time to sign off. Too late, I'll have this in my head all nigt.