Parts

I woke from a beautiful dream. I was standing on a small airfield with Obama, Biden and Bill Clinton. They were just goofing around, joking, laughing, being all chill and fun.  Dunno what they were talking about but great vibes radiated off them. That was the dream. I woke in such a good mood.

My head, by the by, looks like a road map now. I don’t have a part in my hair – no, I have parts. Plural. Many. That and my twisted mouth is starting to resemble the wriggles of the Amazon River. Why? Nerve damage from one of my 50 bazillion brain surgeries. Unlike Maria in West Side Story, I don’t feel pretty. Not this morning anyway.

I think a tiara would help. Ya know, everyone oughta have one. 

Tomorrow I’ll go in to see my bean surgeon (Doc Barker) to talk about the risks involved with another slice-age. Being part of the clinical trials for the new drug treatment (INTUITT-Nf2) is not fully off the table but it’s looking mighty dubious.  

The current, seizure sparking meningioma is much, MUCH smaller than the one he excavated this past January BUT size isn’t the only danger determining factor. Placement, is key.

Reptilicus, (a fine name for a tumor don'cha think?), that fucker, is draped right smack dab over my motor cortex. I’m guessing this means that paralysis from the neck down is in play. Big fun. At this point, I’m still under the assumption that we can hold off on giving me yet another part until spring, when I’ll have achieved recovery from the last two big-ass slice ups.

Given this and the upcoming do or die election (literally, if not immediately), I’m so stressed that I’m actually considering reading a Jackie Collins tome (fap books for unimaginative, makeup beclowned sorority sisters). Ok, I’ve never actually read anything of hers but Hollywood Wives? Sounds sordid as hell AND, like all the wives are mansion/big-diamond wealthy. You know what that means? Yes, I cheer for high body counts.

Oh wait, maybe Collins isn’t writing murder mysteries? Also, there probably aren’t any vampires, werewolves or vile demon kings either. Nertz. I suppose it’s back to Laurell Hamilton, though she’s more horror (with horror sex, i.e. S&M) to match. //shudder// Why do I think of these two author’s works if I’m not into the onanistic aspect?

I’m looking for cheezy escapism, not deep character development, not existential conundrums or swirling, relevatory epiphanies – fuck no. Cheeze is good, it’s fun. Fun is good. Need cheeze.

Charlaine Harris (of the famed Sookie Stackhouse series) has long been my go-to, guilty pleasure, escapism author BUT her latest offering, (just out this month,) is listed as “on order” by the Thomas Crane so I gotta wait.

A library website feature that I just discovered is their New Fiction page. Book covers scroll by – click on whatever appeals and you get the story synopsis. Pretty damn cool AND easier for me than standing in the stacks, climbing ladders or crawling along the floor to see the bottom shelf.

I thought, in order to take books out during these no-patrons-admitted-for-browsing plague times, I’d have to know exactly what I want (they bring reserved books out to the car). Well yes, I DO need to know and order in advance BUT I can now peruse cover art and read story summaries online! WAY cool!

I just found a GOTTA-check-out – Zoey Punches the Future in the Dick by David Wong. I’ve not read him before but it sounds right up my ally

Nightmarish villains with superhuman enhancements. An all-seeing social network that tracks your every move. Mysterious, smooth-talking power players who lurk behind the scenes. A young woman suddenly in charge of the most decadent city in the world--and her very smelly cat. (source)

Cats and a chick in charge – what’s not to love? Also, taking it out of the library means it’s free, free, FREE. Free is good.