The Sense of Being Stared at by Zombies

This morning, after being awoken by kittens at 4 AM after spending my first night alone while my wife was away on business and my children skiing with their grandparents and aunt, and kicking them out into the hall and ignoring their scratching at the door and then falling back to sleep and getting up at 5.30 to feed them and the big cats and then eat breakfast and feed the birds and clean litter boxes and take a shower and shave, I went upstairs to get dressed and standing there in the walk-in closet found the phrase “The Sense of Being Stared at by Zombies” in my head at the same time that I heard something scratching in the walls, much like the sounds taken to be rats in the ceiling or attic, I forget which, at the start of the novel “The Exorcist” (after reading that as a kid I lost any interest in watching the movie), and so stood there, wondering on the one hand what new resident this was I was hearing, a nest of martens, perhaps, or rats or birds or demons (when I thought of demons, another phrase entered my head: “The bad thing about slicing open demons is more demons come out”) and on the other what would differentiate the sense of being stared at by zombies from the sense of being stared at in general, and if it was humorous to imagine Rupert Sheldrake discussing the first draft of his book ultimately published as “The Sense of Being Stared At” with his agent, and his agent advising him to take out the zombies then it might be okay, or if I was one of those people who should not live alone for an extended time.

Careers in Science, II: Acarology

(We did algedonics yesterday)

The acarologist has probably a pound of the little sonsabitches in his hypoallergenic pillow alone. He can’t hear them but he knows they’re there, and pounds more in the hypoallergenic mattress. Thank god they don’t have wallpaper or a carpet. His daughter coughs at the other end of the hall. She can’t sleep because being horizontal makes her cough, and she refuses to sleep sitting up. He thinks of all the jobs he never would have survived had he been as picky. What time is it, eleven. His wife said she’d be home at midnight. What the name of pere ubu are the kittens doing out in the hall? And who thought the pulsating sleep light feature on the ibook was a good idea? If he squints his eyes shut tight in the darkness, and then opens them real fast and wide, he can see blue rings that look as if they were scratched into film emulsion.

Flying squirrels

We have something even better: the kittens can jump onto the kitchen counters now. Thanksgiving is going to be so much fun.


3:00 AM – Wake up. Raining hard. The rain sounds nice. Everyone else is still sleeping, even the kittens. Go downstairs, let in the big cats, feed big cats and one kitten. Go looking throughout house for other kitten. FInd her, feed her too.

3:20 AM – It took 20 minutes to feed the cats?

3:25 AM – Start writing

4:30 AM – Update nanowrimo draft 1 word count. It’s over 50,000, yay. Far from finished, though. A mess, to be honest. Type a little more. Check email.

5:00 AM – Celebrate by going back to bed for an hour.

5:15 AM – Give up, go back downstairs to kitchen, hang out with Alpha.

6:00 AM – Pack lunch for Gamma.

6:15 AM – Shower, shave.

6:30 AM – Wake and feed Gamma. Empty dishwasher. Fill dishwasher. Clean litter boxes.

7:00 AM – Start nagging Gamma to get ready.

7:20 AM – Last call. We really have to leave now.

7:30 AM – Leave for school. Drop Gamma, continue on to work.

8:30 AM – 5:30 PM – Random shit. Maybe hit Apple store at lunch to look at xmas gifts for Beta.

7:00 PM – Run buffet at Beta’s harp concert, somehow.

8:00 PM – Lose all cognitive functioning, due to getting up at 3 AM.

9:00 PM – Go out for drinks with harp people after concert, etc.

10:00 PM – Go to bed or fall asleep in restaurant, depending on location.

Get with it, Monsanto

If kittens smelled like bacon, they’d be perfect.

Weasels Kittens ripped licked my flesh ears

The kittens have discovered Beta’s harp big time*. Louie likes to climb to the top and sit there. Gamma says he looks like the Lion King.

Last night we let them scamper throughout the house, instead of locking them into the guest room while we slept. Today, our ears are very clean from being licked all night by purring kittens.

It sort of felt like being Gulliver, asleep on a beach getting washed by little people.

Going through my journal, I found a list of things I wanted. I wrote it back in July. Apparently, things one can affect oneself tend to be achieved more readily when one takes concrete action than when one does not, whereas things one cannot directly affect (as far as I can see) could possibly happen even if one does nothing beyond wishing for them. Although, who knows what one can directly affect. Maybe there is something to the power of prayer, or something.

Like, item one on the list: new eyeglasses (due to blurry vision and headaches). I made an appointment with the eye doctor and now have new eyeglasses. It took me maybe a week from making the appointment until I had the glasses. Or, item eight: a theremin. Solution: buy one. That worked, same as for item nine, an electric cello. On the other hand, there is item four: Reaganomics (i.e. the neoconservative agenda) disgraced. Who would’ve thought, back in July, huh? Or item five: nationalization of certain sectors of the economy. Looking better, although I had been thinking of things like infrastructure, security/military (rather than the current trend towards privatizing that stuff) and extractive industries (proceeds of mining, forestry, etc ought to go to “the people” rather than some firm that did not, after all, have a hand in the production of the natural resources exploited) and not banks and stuff, but it’s a start. Solar roads and slot cars: nothing there yet, as far as I know.

So, I guess, the idea is to keep hacking away at stuff, step by step, where one can hack, and not give up on the big stuff, either. Small steps.

Bran linked to an encouraging article on late bloomers. So, yeah, I guess, keep hacking away.

Had a dream night before last that an old guy’s pants fell down, and a nightmare that my cello was all beat up. It has sustained another nick, a piece got chipped off, that always saddens me, and reminds me this is why I was originally interested in carbon fiber cellos. But in the dream it was awful, the back was cracked so bad the neck was wobbly.

*The harp is in a soft case, so they probably won’t damage it.