This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Last Days (Blogophilia 14.11)
The late afternoon storm clouds his vision. Or is it the tears? Rainbow letters scatter in the fun-house mirror. June is for summer and fun, not gloom and mourning. A suitcase of memories overwhelm him as he turns into the parking lot. Tagging along with Mom and Dad on shopping trips. For some reason, the memory of going next door and adopting the cats floats up. Dad later ran over the one he picked out, but the other one lived he was old. He’s never forgotten that. But in the end, it doesn’t matter.
Waiting for the store to open, it occurs to him. These are the last days of childhood. Whether he wants to or not, it’s time to grow up. Liquidation signs are a wiggle jig to a bass, drawing him closer and closer to the hook, to his doom. A couple of shrink-wrapped games for future trades, he told himself, to turn for a profit. It is a lie, of course. He only buys, never sells. The collection fills two rooms upstairs and is growing. He might have to get a storage bin before too long.
He needs to slow down. In his mind, he pictures him to far ahead. Eh, screw it. People have no vision. This stuff will make me rich someday.
The second hand unwinds in his mind. The large space is almost empty, even some of the shelves are gone, only cables and learning stuff left. With a sigh, he grabs the fiberglass giraffe and leaves.
Hey, Heidy and Howdy!. It's your ol' buddy, Harry live on good ol' WOFT. The marketing weasels have been crunching the latest Nielsen numbers and they saidgolden oldies aren't cutting it anymore. That's right! Fewer and fewer of you Geritol kids have it in you to keep up, or worse have joined me here in the wind. Well, as public service (and a craven attempt to keep my job), I have taken it upon myself to give you, my listeners, the strength to carry on. Hey! Isn't that a song lyric?
I read somewhere that laughter is the best medicine, so tonight's show is all COMEDY!
We'll start with Happy Hour. Now where I'm from the Killjoys in the State Revenue department no longer allow for drink specials, but I am aware of a few places you can pong for your beer...
By the time you've played a round or three, you get really happy. So happy, you don't care what silliness is on TV.
But some jerk decides cartoon Wrasslin' ain't real since there ain…
Hey, Heidy and Howdy, Ladies and Gents. Good Ol' Harry here and tonight's show on the Fart is special. We're calling it "Talking to the Moon." Or, howling might be more accurate. Midnight is we think of love and loss, and the best type of music for the theme is Tears in Your Beer country. Yep, all those Grand Ol' Opry stars talking about lost loves.
Speaking of lost loves, my competition and colleague, Delilah, is having a rough time in her life. She lost a child recently and has been bereft (don'tcha love that word) about playing her sappy love songs. So the first dedication of the night is to her. Here's hoping she's..
When the full moon is out there, if we have a partner, we think about dancing with them. If we have lost a partner, we want one. Either way we know something is there following us.
And as we wander, the sadness of the missing grows.
Even when we are home, the sense of loneliness grows.
Traffic on 400 was light and the orange sunrise matched his mood. The long expanse of concrete dulled Jimmy’s senses. This thoughts drifted to this morning. In a soft voice he began to sing.
“I've got you under my skin. I have got you, deep in the heart of me...”
Her stepping out of the shower, flashing what he’d seen so many times before. “So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me. I've got you under my skin.”
The firm hand ran along his chin, sending a thrill where it shouldn’t. It wasn’t smooth any more, which made it more ticklish and fun. Their little dance played in in the mirror as she swayed from side to side. The hand drifted across his chest, across his round belly. “I'd sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near”
Wet hair tucked into his shoulder and she purred.
“Jimmy Morris, do I dazzle you?”
“Forever, Kathy Simpson.” The sound of his shout rattled around the car and a silly grin spread across his face. “Forever and al…