I took Nyquil last night, sick as a dog. Threw up in the middle of the night. Then went back to bed. I wonder if it’s just some kind of bug I can’t shake. Asleep today, until 11am, I was in a half-dream state, where I wasn’t sure what was dream and what was actually happening. I heard barking. It sounded like an audition for a three dog a cappella group. When I finally awoke, dressed, and found my way downstairs in need of a muffin, Phil asked me if I’d heard Rex, our neighbor’s dog. "Yuh, what was that about?"

"There was a coyote in OUR backyard."
"…"
"And it’s rare that they come out during the day, too. It was 10am."
"How do you even know what a coyote looks like? I mean, how’d you know it just wasn’t someone else’s dog?"
"’Cause I KNOW."
I shrugged my shoulders and assumed it was the same as when a woman just knows if she’s about to get her period (which I just did, FYI).

"They can eat toddlers ya know."
"Yeah, I called the number you’re supposed to call if you–"
"In New York, there’s a number to call if you see an unattended bag or suspect package. In Texas, we get a number for baby-eating mammals. I don’t know that I feel safer here. What with rattlesnakes, scorpion, and rabid coyotes that target young children IN OUR BACKYARD." WTF?

It is, however, better than running into your Wasband and his redheaded escort on the streets of NY. I’d choose poison, personally. And what was my friend (albeit not a close one) thinking sending me a link to his photo anyway? Like I even give a shit what that assmunch is doing screwing with his life? Actually, on second thought, might add a few nice new details to the TV show. If I had a mustache, I’d twist it right now.

It’s amazing how fast the anger can come back. How you can genuinely wish someone treats him the way he treated you. That you can still care, even though you shouldn’t. You care less, but I don’t know that it ever really goes away.