31 July 2011
Raindrops Keep Falling On My Beer
Woke up to the sound of the pissing rain this morning. My dog's tongue was telling my face to wake the fuck up. Lick, lick, lick. Sonja had the blankets. I had a pillow.
I pet the Hammer, still half asleep. I asked myself, as I do, "What did you drink last night?" I thought about it real hard but I could not remember. Then a faint memory began to form like a green cloud in my thunderstorm of a brain. Faint as your memories of when economic times were good. Absinthe? Surely I had not been into the absinthe again.
I stopped petting the Hammer and she lay back down for a couple of minutes before she was back for more. Cool mornings feel better to big dogs than your first beer of the day.
I got up. The Hammer did not want out. She wanted to play. We played. Then I made coffee, put the ingredients to hamburger buns in the bread machine and unloaded and loaded the dishwasher. The cool morning must have perked me up some too.
In between my morning chores I did my absinthe shitting. Not as pleasant an experience as a regular old beer shit. More like a space shuttle taking off than anything else.
Sonja woke up. I brought her book to her. I can hear her turning the pages. The window open, I can hear my neighbours packing themselves into their Japanese truck and Canadian trailer. In four or five hours they will be by a lake, getting ripped as the rest of their countrymen.
Soon enough my neighbours and I who have elected to stay home this long weekend will begin hitting the beer and operating power tools as unsafely as possible. Some of us will end up in the hospital where we will thank our lucky stars and the old commie farmers of Saskatchewan that we live in Canada.