This week I started new freelance with a biblical theme, and it's stressing me out. Last night I had tumultuous, anxiety-ridden dreams about missing deadlines and EPICALLY FAILING. I woke up feeling like I got ran over by a giant herd of 16-legged horses with spikes in their hooves.
After a groggy morning ab routine, I shuffled to go get the bicycle and wander on over to the Santa Monica Farmers Market when I got a call telling me that my most favoritist riding partner was in a motorcycle accident up in Oregon last week. He wasn't killed...in fact, considering that a big rig tried to take him out, he escaped with a lot less than one would expect. The Angel of Death brushed by but didn't make a stop.
What really shakes me up about the news is that he and I ride in a very similar style. We're both fast, cranky bastards on our bikes, and generally take the same types of risks. So this is a "There but by the Grace of God" type of deal.
So that news had me all freaked out as I ran my errands.
I get back home, put the bicycle away, and as I'm walking back to the house, I see this tasty little tidbit on the back porch:
A goddam dead bird. I'm assuming Kitty is the culprit, as he's the most regular of the backyard cats that hangs out. That, and I've been feeding him sporadically, and I think the bird is a commentary on my lack of regularity. I suspect this is NOT a suicide on the bird's part.
I think Kitty looks rather pleased with himself in this photo:
I'm ready for this day to be over already.