Of Stinky Cats and Hair

Woke up at 5:41 this morning and found myself moaning and even yelling a bit, as if in the middle of a nightmare. There was no nightmare, though, just a very large cat with bad breath sleeping next to me. Well, my vocalizations kept the poor lad from sleeping. He just looked at me, and I scratched his ears. For awhile I listened to the rain falling outside, and resisted the urge to take a lorazepam for the state of near panic in which I found myself. I didn't want to put myself to sleep just as I was supposed to be waking up. Instead, I got dressed, made coffee and tried some of those mental exercises that they teach you in therapy. Yes, "they" do. It didn't really work, though, and anxiety persists. I'll live.

I shaved my chest a couple of months ago, but it has grown back with a vengeance. It looks like an Italian guy on Revere Beach in August. Well, his chest, anyway. Hell knows what my ass looks like, I once shaved that, too. Eh, I give up. Let it grow and grow and grow until my dick disappears and my nipples are just a memory. Let it grow until I can go sky-diving without a parachute. I don't care...the fat under the hair is a greater concern, anyway. Actually, the man under the fat is causing me the most unease. And I can't shave that bastard away. Wax won't work, either.

What the hell am I talking about?

Anyway, people, write me...you know who you are.