Everyday life really screws up everything.

As in, I want coffee, but I am late for work. I want coffee Lily is bouncing all over the place and she needs to get out and RUN already. Someone has to call the vet finish the laundry do something about the mounds of trash fermenting on the patio fix the vacuum so it sucks as much as I think it sucks who will do the damn dishes?

Jerry put a new cool black and white tiled floor in the bathroom, so our toilet is out on the patio too. This place is beautiful.

Lily has to sniff the stupid thing every time we hop outside. Didn't she sniff it enough when it was parked in its corner of our bathroom? How can I take advantage of a patio toilet? My neighbors loath us enough, so I am thinking I should plant something in it and see how long it lasts out by the mailbox with the lid up. Enjoy your morning speed fest on your way to work ... maybe an unsightly crapper will ease your foot off the gas.

Let me mention something that I can't resist: How often is it that you step over a crumpled dog and are cleaning your teeth with your face stretched and grimacing at the mirror when you notice a pure white and nearly clear little spider repelling off your chin lapel zipper and zooming past your waistband on its way to the floor? At the same time the endless rain we've endured for days finally has swelled up in the ground, knocked politely at the foundation stones, then trickled streamed poured through the cracks? I have an inch puddling in spots around my computer chair.

It's meandering along now in the seams of grout, or clogging up with tons of dog hair and lint it collected on its way.

Lily and I don't mind being wet in the mornings on our quick bolt through the woods. I had been throwing a stick and Lily came back with a giant tree limb. Maybe I should throw a dollar.

Monday I popped off my wet sneakers and watched steam come rise from inside my shoes. Shower.

Lily and I will go to our vet Thursday afternoon and find out about the little bubble on her tummy next to her belly button. I press on it and it feels like a little glob of jelly under there about the size of my thumb.

She runs out of her Viokase enzyme treatments about once a week. It's $110 a bottle. Oh My God.

I don't know if it's stress or what but my back is covered with huge, sore acne and on my collar bone is one red and blistered boil that I will eventually stab in exasperation, but not just yet.

Remember that record Lily and I set for the most consecutive days of making, then cleaning up diarrhea? The stench of bile and rot clinging to our living room upholstery, staining the brown wooden walls a darker hue, and smashing into guests with a fetid blast of gore has been replaced by and equally vicious fool. It's me.

I am mean nasty intolerable and the cause of screaming raw throats and swearing. What am I going to do with myself? Why can'tI just shut up and leave everyone else alone and in peace where they are on the couch or bed or wherever. I am going through a weird and impossible rage and want to hurt. I want to break things I want pain and to spend my fury in some exhausting way. Maybe It's too long with the strain. Maybe I am standing there inside my head with one foot over a fire and the other in quicksand. Goodbye, I say to myself. I hope the people I care most about are still here when I crawl back out of the muck to apologize.