Wild Life

This is Flower. All skunk visitors, just so's ya know, are named Flower. Our sweet striped guests never spray when dining with us. That's 'cause we run a respectable live-and-let-live brekfast joint. There will be NO brawls or even unpleasant convos here at the Valhalla Diner. I insist!

Yesterday Ten and I went to the wake for my friend’s sister. We didn’t stay long. I’d only met Debbie in passing so I couldn’t offer up any treasured anecdotes or pearls of wisdom. I gave my friend a couple tight hugs, we hung out for a bit and then, after more hugs, split.

This morning we’re off to see my friend who, mega ecstatically failed in his suicide attempt. What can I offer him beyond “don’t you dare pull a stunt like that agin! You get to feeling like a desolation angel, that all life is hopeless, YOU CALL ME! I’ll jump inna car and come to the fucking rescue immediately!” Dammit. I honestly do realize that things aren’t that simple. When you’ve fallen down the seemingly endless rabbit hole of depression, calling for help just isn’t a close at hand impulse.

Me? If you’re a regular reader, you know that my big sads often veer off into rage. Sadly, this often turns inward  but that doesn’t last. Eventually, after the smoke clears, I’m able to get a clear view of the sitch, of life,

My current rage will, possibly, only pass after. the Orange Anal Fistula Crime Cartel (AND his family) are safely behind bars and all their ill-gotten gain is distributed to the families they’ve crippled and or destroyed.

But you knew that.