The Plan
2003-01-09 - 3:39 p.m.
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Okay, here's the plan. I'm gonna' move. I want to get a job bartending. I don't want to live in a shit-hole, though, and looking on-line, I have a suspicious feeling what I will find when I go to check it out. Those two story, town house-esque shitholes. I guess I can be happy no matter where I live, but...man, I'd rather live someplace else. So, I'll get a cat to keep me company and kill mice, which always seems to happen in those places. A black cat, female, and call her "blue". I also want to get two plants that are leafy and green, names to be decided later. And a fish. A black gold fish which I will call 'whitey'. I will keep him in a blender that will be plugged into the wall. I will say lovingly sadistic things to whitey when I come home from a long day, and then stroke my cat. "Hanging from a thread, today, whitey. I'm just not in a good mood." I'll say, as my finger hovers over the puree button. I would never do it, of course. But whitey will never know that. In the grand scheme, the cat will likely off the fish no matter what I do. But I've wanted a fish for awhile now. I will also have a closet, in which I will keep my guitars. In this closet will be a humidifier. It will work out nicely. I will play in coffee shops. I will attend and read at poetry readings. I will go back to school, and get some computer certifications I need. I will start a band and we will play on weekends. I will get my album finished if I have to sell my soul to the non-existant devil to do it. And something about girls. That's the plan.
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