From the sounds of all the small motors I hear sputtering around the neighborhood I should be mowing the lawn.
Screw that. I've got a hammock.
The girls are two doors down playing in a neighbor's yard. I don't think there are any other children, just them running around in circles and screaming, "Feed us! Throw out candy or we'll shit in your bushes!" Actually there appears to be about five or six of them and they seem to be getting along. I'm never sure if I should make my presence known to the other parents. It seems like I should pop over for a second just to let them know that I'm not depending on them to take care of my children for an hour or four.
I think I'll avoid contact. After all, I'm busy. I'm swinging in my hammock, listening to Radio All That Comes With It and wondering how god is punishing the evil people.
I'm looking at the sky and it reminds me of Bon Bon's photo of the capital shot through the fountain on Monona Terrace. It's a great picture. All that sky. It makes me want to close my eyes and take deep, deep breaths in through my nose. I haven't talked much to Bon Bon lately. We got in a huge fight just because I didn't hold the door for her one morning. I wound up standing in her office yelling at the top of my lungs. She wasn't there - but I felt better.
Speaking of confrontations with friends. Dwayne, you need to get your ass back here and pick up your trash. Who hops on their motorcycle and rides for hours just to drop their waste off on a person's porch? Who does that? I've walked around the house three times so far to see what else you may have left for me to pick up. So far I didn't find anything but that doesn't mean there's not a surprise waiting for me.
Julia just came by and crawled into the hammock with me. "Why aren't you playing?" I asked.
"Austin is trying to kill the turtle with a truck. I told him two times not to do it but he won't listen. "
"Yeah, but why aren't you playing with your friends?"
"Too many blueberries on the ground."
Time to give the girls a bath. I suppose their hygiene trumps my hammock time. They'd better be freakin' filthy.