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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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