Wednesday, February 28, 2018


I don't know if I can do this any more.  I think I've said everything already.  As author of this site, I have been "discovered" too many times and can no longer tell the secrets I used to.  My writing is constrained.  I can't be honest, or at least creatively so.  Still, I have a need to write, to tell, and I may go back to writing in a journal, electronic or otherwise.

But wait!  Something has happened.  A big Barn Box of gingerbread and candy that was delivered yesterday (not for me but as a present for Ili's friend's kid) was sitting on the dining room table.  When Ili got up, she asked me what happened.  The box had two big holes chewed in it.  Some candy was on the floor, still sealed in its clear plastic wrapper.  Inside the box, the gingerbread had been attacked.  WTF?  It had to be a rat, but I don't have rats.  Not possible.  There is no rat poop anywhere.  I've left things out on the countertops overnight and nothing has ever been disturbed.  I'm freaking.  Was the rat inside the box?  But the cardboard is lying all around the table and on the floor. How did it get in?

This is war.  Traps are coming out.  Poisons.  Cats.  Where does the little fucker live?  Where is it now?

I hope I have more to report tomorrow.  I'll give photo evidence if I can.  Jesus.  I feel I have the Plague.

And so it ends this morning.  There are other reasons I can't write.  But maybe another time.

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