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This morning I woke up to 8 lbs of love licking me in the face. If I didn't love her, I would have probably made her into a foot rug for disturbing my sleep. Sometimes I pity her for the cruel cruel girls that gave her the name "Pixie". It took me a couple of months to begin saying it out loud. As a guy, we try finding a way around saying such words, in this case I said names such as "Pixster", "Pixinator" and "Pixie stick." Then when she finished cleaning off my face, she laid down next to me and curled into a ball, then disappeared. It took a few minutes to find her again.
This same morning I couldn't help but feeling older. Every day that goes by, we get older with less hair and less memory. I felt the hurry in refining my talents. In getting started for a successful future. I realized that NOW is the time. That if I don't start this instance, I am setting myself up for failure. Then I got bored and went back to sleep. Three hours later and re-energized for my pathway to success, I ate a delicious waffle. Chef Gordon has been very fascinated with bread making. Today was sourdough day. From the kitchen I heard sounds of explosions, clanking hammers and a few cat shrieks. He was experimenting again. Chef Gordon could and should open his own restaurant. I offered to be his marketer, he declined. We ate sourdough blueberry waffles, so delicious your socks catch on fire. But, since we threw away all of our smoke detectors ,due to the constant cooking catastrophes in the kitchen, I didn't notice the fire. As I was getting ready to eat my "I-would-kill-any-living-creature-to-eat-these" waffles, I realized I had forgotten the butter. Resting on the counter in a lovely three inch plastic clear bottle that was slightly tilting to the left as though it had been melted one or several times, sat the butter. I picked it up and started to open it. It didn't open. So I pulled harder, nothing. So I pried, pulled, yanked, yelled at it and even threatened it, still it didn't open. After ten minutes of fingernail breaking attempts with blood coming out from under my nails, it hit me. It was a screw on cap. That very moment, it became very clear to me, as a sign from above that I should not ever be a detective. Today is one of those, "man I wish a circus group gets the wrong address and comes to my door offering me a job as a fire-breathing acrobat" kind of days. I don't really have a plan. I could literally do anything with my day. I could join the army, I could go door to door selling my old sneakers, I could even go volunteer at a homeless shelter. I think I'll use my day to go find a job. Stop this tragic disease I have called, "Dad, can I borrow $___ so I can do _______ with _______?" disease. It targets young children and poor college students. We all have an inate inner desire to be independent. There are several popular songs that say so. I hope you all have a wonderful and productive, independent day. Please feel free to comment with suggestions, that way I might get better.
-Kyle
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