White trash hillbilly next door neighbors are my alarm clock. I wake every morning to the sound of their starving dogs yelping in the back yard and their butt naked overfed barely supervised children in the front.
And the adults (and I use that term loosely) like to yell at each no closer than 20 feet apart while honking the truck horn (with the left hand while digging in their ass for fleas and body lice with the right).
Open eyes. Wonder where I am. Get depressed realizing my geography. Pull dog out from under my armpit. Swing legs off the bed and onto the tile floor. If already wearing pants, I waddle over to my mom’s room and let the dog in to jump up on her bed to put her butt on mom’s face. If mom spits and sputters and yells at the dog to get off, we know mom is alive for another day.
Check mom’s room for hidden drugs or booze to be flushed down the toilet. Put her phone back on the hook.
Waddle outside to the main water shutoff and turn the house water back on. Usually done shirtless.
Microwave myself a cup of coffee. Plop a can of dog food into the dog bowl. Curse the dog when my bare feet step in urine or shit on the living room carpet. Tell mom what day it is, who she is, who I am, remind her to eat something and waddle back to my room with my coffee.
Light a cigarette. Plop down at my workstation. Turn on the TV just to the right of my laptop but mute the sound. Turn on my radio just to the left of my laptop to listen to farm reports. Turn on my laptop.
Perform the morning pill-cutting ritual with the blood pressure, heart and lung medications. Chase the stuff down with whatever flat soda pop is lying around. Light a cigarette. Wait for the morning bowel movement to announce itself.
After the BM, my laptop should have finished loading the operating system and a cluttered desktop faces me. I’m ready now for the internet.
And the adults (and I use that term loosely) like to yell at each no closer than 20 feet apart while honking the truck horn (with the left hand while digging in their ass for fleas and body lice with the right).
Open eyes. Wonder where I am. Get depressed realizing my geography. Pull dog out from under my armpit. Swing legs off the bed and onto the tile floor. If already wearing pants, I waddle over to my mom’s room and let the dog in to jump up on her bed to put her butt on mom’s face. If mom spits and sputters and yells at the dog to get off, we know mom is alive for another day.
Check mom’s room for hidden drugs or booze to be flushed down the toilet. Put her phone back on the hook.
Waddle outside to the main water shutoff and turn the house water back on. Usually done shirtless.
Microwave myself a cup of coffee. Plop a can of dog food into the dog bowl. Curse the dog when my bare feet step in urine or shit on the living room carpet. Tell mom what day it is, who she is, who I am, remind her to eat something and waddle back to my room with my coffee.
Light a cigarette. Plop down at my workstation. Turn on the TV just to the right of my laptop but mute the sound. Turn on my radio just to the left of my laptop to listen to farm reports. Turn on my laptop.
Perform the morning pill-cutting ritual with the blood pressure, heart and lung medications. Chase the stuff down with whatever flat soda pop is lying around. Light a cigarette. Wait for the morning bowel movement to announce itself.
After the BM, my laptop should have finished loading the operating system and a cluttered desktop faces me. I’m ready now for the internet.
Tags: Marshall Texas, internet, routine, ritual, online, momma, marquisdejolie
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