Lemme fucking tell you something.
That fucking air conditioner was a warrior. It sat in my goddamn bedroom window for almost ten years and it has been on, non-stop, for the last four and a half.
Ice storms, rain storms, polar vortex, all of it and more and that little trooper sat in there and chugged and chugged some more.
Alas, no more.
After thoroughly flooding my bedroom floor, the last gasps were given, seeing there was still pain, I made the decision and the plug was pulled.
So I laid in there, in the warm and the humid, in the quiet and not vaguely vibrating and I stared at my ceiling for the majority of the evening because this god-like body of mine has gotten used to a certain temperature level and now that it is gone, my whole MoJo was thrown off and I was left wondering if life was even worth living without air conditioning.
Then from the back of my mind, came the solution, well, solutions actually, that I was fervently searching for.
First, I just had the Elder Duck bring up a fucking box fan, not enough, but it moves the motherfucking air around if nothing else.
Secondly, and most importantly, it occurred to me that the old gal in my window had been older than I was anyway and that they still made the things after all, and they made them….better.
So today’s goal is to go and find that joyous monster that replaces the old gal and once again cool my lounging nude form to the perfect keeping temperature for most refrigerated items.
Awesome visual huh?
In other news, it appears as if some people were disturbed by our friends Nicodemus yesterday. Well, that’s good. It was supposed to elicit an emotional response after all. For the delightful fuckwad who tried to tell me that using a Biblical name was a paving stone on the path to hell, I would like to thank you for the story idea you gave me about a much different Yellow Brick Road, but also to use you as a delightful segue into, I don’t know, something else I guess. See, you were a helper and you know I will put a gold star with your name on it right next to the toilet paper so it too, can give a shit a hand.
The worst part of the year is over if you can assume that it is all or nothing per day. My wedding anniversary is in November, but that is mostly a joyous thing that reminds me of the sweet things instead of ramming nightmares down my throat like this month has a habit of doing.
I have more stories coming, a lot of little things, a few big things, and of course, I haven’t forgotten the grand projects of the past. I just need to pace myself or I will write like a demon for a week and then not do a damn thing for another six months. I do not like this particular way of doing things so I will make sure to try and not do that to the best of my abilities.
Recording things are on hold until the little folk go to summer school in a few weeks, but I am sure you can wait to hear the golden voice of the bear until then.
© 2019, TheJameyBear. All rights reserved.