The Childs bunker is in a state of emotional high alert today. It may almost be time to call in the goon squad irregulars to take care of the situation.
The coffee is unually strong, the clouds ominously thick. Even the animals are acting strange, I'm convinced that I saw packs of rabbits and wolves fleeing the scene today. You know something is going to go wrong when the animals flee, they have an uncanny instinct for these things.
The day is packed, too packed, I'm not sure why I'm not a better scheduler, I have so little free time during an extended three days off. The bunker is a disaster, it looks like a combination library/book store/coffee shop exploded and the intact bits have been dumped here to be recovered. I have a couch somewhere underneath a pile of books. I haven't seen the surface of the dining room table in weeks.
As the faces of Che, Fidel, Miles and Dizzy look down on me from the walls, I wonder what the days ahead hold for me. I'm attempting some emotional therapy today, whether it sticks or not is another matter.
I did receive some emtional finality to one situation in my life confirming the dark spot in my heart, while the news was unpleasant to receive it was not unexpected, nor malicious. It does at least provide some emotional clarity.
I'm listening to a lot of south american music in the past few days, a lot of mambos, and tangos. Not sure why, the music does make me feel like dancing, which is disturbing to the neighbours, I'm on the verge of putting on the tight black pants, white frilly shirt and putting a rose between my teeth.
What a disturbing image that would be, however the hardwood floors do lend themselves to an superb tap dance medium, the police officer living below the Childs Bunker might not be as enthusiastic as me.
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