Whiskey Shots

I was standing out in a torrential downpour at the ass crack of dark this morning, trying to decide if it was too late (early?) to take more Nyquil. I’ve had a mutant half breed death flu this weekend (or possibly malaria, WebMD was unclear), and then had to work 2 jobs yesterday. I needed sleep in a bad way, but never hit REM.

The Uberdog’s delicate digestive system kept me up last night, despite his being drugged to the gills on phenobarb and me drugged to the nth degree on cough meds. (Note here please: we feed our dogs NOTHING but dog food. NO people food allowed, I’ve seen too many dogs lost to pancreatitis to EVER feed my dogs scraps. But Uberdog still manages to get the runs like clockwork anytime I really need sleep.)

Anyhow, I’m standing out back with my hood up, hunched over, cold, wet- and thinking about what I want to do with my new land in world. I was engrossed. I was in that no-sleep-and-too-late-to-get-any-now zone, and my eyes were glazed over and my brain was moving slow. I didn’t see the man behind the pine tree until he stepped out.

I’m not sure who jumped the highest or screamed the loudest- me or the Uberwimp. I wasn’t about to stand there and find out who he was, so I tried to run to the house. But my feet did that cartoon thing- I ran in place in the muck. My feet were scurrying like crazy, but I wasn’t going anywhere. Finally the Uberpansy pulled me forward with a jerk and I don’t think my feet touched the ground again til we hit the back porch.

Of course, when I say “hit the back porch”, I mean that literally. My rubber rain boots were no help. My knees hit the back porch, but the Uberchicken didn’t slow, so I was dragged up the steps and into the house. That felt so good, I’ll want to do it again later when I’m alone and can properly enjoy the sensation.

My neighbor apologized this morning for scaring me. Said he was just walking to get his paper, but I don’t believe him. He was laughing when he said sorry. I never realized my probably gay neighbor looked so much like a psychotic crazed serial killer. Why was he holding a hatchet AND a bloody club? (I swear he was. Really. And a mask. Or maybe a raincoat. It was dark.)

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, I’ve got a serious case of Dragon Ass. (no, not the same thing that the Uberpooper has. I mean “My ass is draggin’.”) No sleep, plus bruised knees, plus heinous flu, plus wet cold weather equals Dragon Ass Whiskey.

I still need to figure out what to put on my land. Today might not be the best day to attempt terraforming or building. I’ll just settle for a nice chair for now.