Longer than the Great Wall, the Parks and Recreation Commission meeting crept through its agenda while I napped, woke, napped, woke, and members had barely reached the end of a sentence.

Arriving home I wade through dogs, drop my camera bag, and fall on the couch near Jerry. A commercial melts the surface of my eyes into a glassy pool and wipes expression from my face. I realize seconds later that I hate TV. I hate TV I hate it. I hate that all modern American living rooms are arranged around the TV. TV, where all the couches and chairs are aimed right at it. Screw you TV.

Anyway, I glance back at the commercial as stupid words chirp from someone's mouth: If you experience bleeding, loss of vision or lightheadedness …

I yell, It's stupid, It's an unnatural, medicated screwing. Don't take it!!!

I stuff my middle finger extra close to the actress on TV. Static charge tickles my skin.

Jerry says, it's TV, who cares what they say.

Yup.

I drop downstairs and sit at my computer, thinking of things that I hate. After a few long days I am worn out, a little tired after tonight's meeting, which lasted longer than death, and I am cranky from the lousy TV.

I think of slick entrails slipping through my fingers. Warm, copper scented guts. I take this to mean that I want to kill my TV. Truthfully, I do.

I looked up the word disembowel, just so I could sing along: deprive of entrails.

Shall I say to the chicken the cow the fowl the pig, I am sorry …and as I wind their lower intestines around my fork like spaghetti, I'll add, so , sorry, but you have been bad today, and you can't have these again until tomorrow, when you apologize for that commercial….

You may think I sound nuts, but that meeting was really long.

Lots of aggression lately and I have no real place to toss it. Doubts, like little worms, slurp my thoughts up.

OK. Maybe a glass of wine and my book will help. Today the writing is like etching sins into my skin.