June 30th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

My tweets

2013, cyd, new

There may have been a bird-nado, but the bird got away.

My vexation at not being able to sit the way I want to is actually worse than the pain I am in. I cleaned the house just fine. There was one rough patch when I had to get on my hands and knees to suck up carpet bits (never make a cat tree out of cheap carpet, you will be vacuuming every day), getting down was ok, and the actual crawling about wasn't bad. But getting back up was sketchy. Chewy came over next to me and positioned himself to be a brace for me. And for such a little thing, he is very solid. I don't put my entire weight on him by a long shot, but he steadies me in the first few seconds of lift-off.

We had to trim Chewy's beard off. The last straw was his treat of the dregs of a bowl of beef stew. Most of it got on his whiskers/beard. Then he jumped up on me and rubbed his whiskers all over me. That was it for me. I got the hair trimming scissors, a bacon treat and the hand-vac and handed them, along with Chewy, to Doc. That was it for the wise whiskers. Now he looks years younger. But he's still just as much a lay about and still just as pensive.

Funny thing happened the other night. A father and daughter got into an argument about the merits of slam poetry. Father was on the "con" side. And he made the mistake of using "The Pussy Poem" as his example of the evils of slam poetry. But he left my @ attached to his comments, so the came to me as well as his daughter. And you know me, I can't just let that go. I had to get involved. I was a smart ass from the start, but I, in all seriousness, invited him to listen to it, that it wasn't what he was assuming. He kept telling me to shut up, that he wasn't talking to me, and I kept telling him to stop sending his messages to me, or learn the basics of Twitter. It didn't go on long. The girl eventually told her dad to chill out, and he shut up. The whole thing was pretty funny.

There's this group called the Propane Poets, and they have a ginormous project bringing religious conversation to slam poetry. Last night they tweeted me and asked me to send them anything religious, cultural, spiritual or "deep-ish", and they would be happy to promote it. So I sent them links to 4 pieces. The retweeted 3 of them. They did this, going by title alone, and I know this because they did not RT the one that had the most to do with religion, "Your Daughter is a Slut". The whole title used to be, "Your Daughter is a Slut, Said the Bishop's Wife", i just cut it down because it became unwieldy. So I can count on them for promotion of certain pieces I post. This is a cool thing.

I got another Patreon Patron. That's two now. Another good and old friend. So it's starting as a really intimate thing, and that is really neat for me. It drives me harder to be more creative and think harder about what I will post. Because these are people who have already seen what I have done lately, through here, and Facebook. So I need to step up my game and keep thinking and dreaming. It's very cool. I'm really glad I did this. This is a journey my art and I am finally ready for. It's been a long time coming, but I think that time was spent building experience points. I really do. I had to break down so many times because it took that many times to get the pieces finally in the right places afterward.

Hopefully by the time leaving the house comes into question, I will be ready for that challenge. But I'm not thinking about that now. There's no need to. It's not here yet, and may never be. Cool. What I have right now? The above paragraphs? Enough. Better than I thought I'd get to.

Oh, Free Range Pet Update: Izzard is unharmed! Whoever the cats beat up, that I put up near Izzard and Iggy's home, was not either of them. I've seen both of them playing and feeding. No sign of the third one, though.

In light of Teenie's penchant for capturing the big lizards, she is only allowed out from 9am to 11am, when the lizards are asleep underground.

No sign of rats this year. I think the two we had last year wandered into the yard or were brought here by the cats, there is really no place to nest in our yard. The shed is full of plastic bins, not very hospitable.

No further bird-aggeddons. Nor bird-pocalypse. There may have been a bird-nado, but the bird got away.