Chookery...

So, a couple of weeks ago I explained that Dulcie, one of my chooks, was going through this black, moody, angst filled period where she was being a total bitch and refusing to do anything but sit in the hen house – probably either composing bleak, chook against man poetry or dire threats against me and all humanity – and she was also pissing off the other two chooks, Laverne, aka Houdini and Ursula, the beauty challenged one, who were trying to live in the same abode and lay eggs. Terrible squabbles ensued and feathers were found everywhere. The mood in the backyard was tense and explosive. Dulcie, for the record, had done the dark, moody shit before and there’s just no reasoning with her when she is all angst filled and pissed off looking, glaring at you with evil eyes. But I'm not about to fall apart due to another's mind games so I left it to her explaining that 'I’m not playing into this shit, sister.' 

But now suddenly, Dulcie has left the chook house and is hanging out with the other two chooks and is laying eggs. Why? I dunno. Who can say what goes on in the mind of any female let alone a feathered one? Do I trust her? Let's just say I'm not about to turn my back on her and become a headline in the Cairns Post..."Chook attacks woman. Police search for suspect last seen headed for KFC muttering 'vengeance will be mine'."   

Weirdness…

So I was perusing the Cairns Post at work because I had nothing else to do and I was reading my horoscope – Scorpio - which was boring. No mention of money or sex or drugs or rock and roll. Anyway I scanned the horoscopes of other people I knew and Libra caught my eye –

“To this very day, if you live in the City of York, you are legally entitled to use a bow and arrow to shoot a Scotsman. You can do it with complete impunity, unless it happens to be on a Sunday, in which case the law will offer you no protection.”

*Page 18 Cairns Post November 2012

Who knew? What did this have to do with being a Libra? Not a damn thing I could see. So who makes up these horoscopes that we read so avidly? I reckon any bugger on the planet can.

BTW…FYI…

http://www.metro.co.uk/news/895155-scottish-archery-fans-can-relax-in-york-as-archaic-laws-face-axe

The things you read in the newspaper… 

Crimson...

So I bought this really impractically coloured crimson sofa thing today. It doesn’t match a damn thing in the house but then nothing I own matches. I looked at the colour choices. Cream – nah, I’m always rushing, rushing, rushing and I spill things as I dash around. Brown – practical, matches things, it’s a grown up colour, and it makes sense. Nah. I don’t want any of that. Crimson. Impulsive, silly, crazy and I expect Wayne and Cheryl, my budgies, if they looked from their perch inside and saw it they would roll their eyes in horror yet at the same time be dead jealous. Crimson is the colour of madness, fools and silly buggers. It matches nothing. I’ll have it.

That then led to what to do with the two recliner chairs I have. They’re 15 years old – yes, I’m a keeper of things – and in good nick because my mother, bless her crimson toenails – always made sure as kids we understood we had to ‘look after things.’ So, I emailed a friend at work, I was at work too, but questions about recliner chairs are way more important than whatever it is they pay me for. He suggested selling them in a freebie classified that runs every Tuesday in the Cairns Post. Good idea but there is a problem. To get it free you have to say as little as possible in a certain amount of words yet it has to make sense. This is hard for someone who writes because we’re emotionally tortured, sensitive, angst ridden souls who delve deeply into the depths of the swirling morass of feelings that make up humankind and complex needs and raw emotion need space to breathe and grow so what we write becomes a part of us and is embedded in our psyche and our readers are enriched by the experience. I put ‘2 recliners. Very good nick. Phone ####.’ Yep, considered that embedded.