Do I Answer Like It Matters?

I had a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, a sort of regular thing.

There was a medical student there, and as part of her training she had to do a patient survey with me.

The subject of my mental health came up and I explained that I have depression, pretty severely at the moment.  We talked about medication and why I won't take it, and she asked (as part of the survey) if I had suicidal thoughts.

Tricky question, that.

Answer it wrong and you get to stay in the comfortable padded rooms of the local psych hotel, complete with poorly fitting fashions and all the meds you can (whether you want to or not) take.

Sometimes?  That sounds kinda nice.  No kids, no chores, no pets, no one else's feelings or hurt or needs or anger to tiptoe around.  A whole staff dedicated to taking care of me.  Like a spa but less formal.  And then there are all the other crazies in there for entertainment - way better than reality TV any day!

Oh, well, yeah, there's that whole not-allowed-to-come-and-go-as-one-pleases thing...that kinda puts a crimp on my style, yo.

And the not having my daughter to cuddle up with for an afternoon nap, or my kids to wake up to in the morning.

And cafeteria food.  Oh, Gods, the cafeteria food!

So it's wise to consider carefully and answer as honestly as one can...but for me, that's a tricky thing because honestly?  Yes, I have suicidal thoughts.  Lately, it seems like they're a chorus, constantly humming in my head.  I am sick of life.  Sick of feeling flattened, worn down, worn away, worthless and useless, and if I could just shuffle off this mortal coil without having to do the deed myself I would be delighted.

I don't want to live.

I don't want to experience what the world has to offer, or my children's laughter, or how they grow up.  I don't want to be responsible for them or their well-being.  I don't want to sing.  I don't want to write.  I don't want one fucking thing to do with anyone or anything.  I want, with damn near every bit of my being, to be dead.

All.  The.  Time.

But...

But...

But I DO, in fact, want to be part of my children's lives...I just don't like feeling like I am screwing them up.

And life is amazing, even when I hate it.  Luckily, it doesn't hate me back.  Yet.

And I may not want to sing , but I need to.  It's part of the fabric of my being and, like oxygen, I cannot seem to do without it (even when I believe, absolutely, that no one wants to hear it)(my disease, my thoughts, and I can believe in pink unicorns but that doesn't make them any more real).

And I would very much like to feel like a writer again, if only there was time or opportunity and I didn't feel so overwhelmed by everything else that needs doing and so unnecessary to the writing world.

And, you know, there's that promise I made all those years ago...the one where I said I wouldn't off myself.  And I don't break my world.  Ever.  Even when I really, really, really, really, really want to.  A lot.

So.  I know that when medical folks ask about suicidal thoughts, what they really want to know is if there's any imminent danger of one acting on those thoughts...and in my case, there is not.  So I can tell them "No" and it's the answer that best fits the question even if it' not, entirely, honest.

Because in the end?  It doesn't matter what I am thinking or feeling or what I want.  And really, institutional Jell-o is all the motivation I need to smile and keep on as if nothing is wrong in the world, and since I cannot actually DO what I would like to about how I am feeling, it's all good.  Right?

Right.

F.I.N.E.

Thoughtfetti

Went to the dentist yesterday, got a new crown.  Fun.  Went to the doctor as well, got a well-meant lecture on taking better care of myself and some new medication.  More fun.
~~~~~
The Evil Genius spent two weeks restricted from strenuous play while he healed up from his orchioplexy.  Restriction was lifted last Friday and we spent Saturday and Sunday at a friend's place on a lake.  He was in paradise!  We will go back again as soon as I've recovered from mass-people-exposure.  That is TOO a condition!
~~~~~
I think, maybe, possibly, perhaps, there's a slight chance...that we are well and truly finished with the recording part of making our new CD.  Whew!  What a haul...totally worth it, but if anyone ever tries to say singing isn't work, they've no idea what they're talking about!
~~~~~
Two of the three ring-neck snakes died.  I am sad about that.  Gimpy, the slightly bent one, is still kicking (figuratively speaking, of course, because how can a snake kick???), I believe largely because I hand feed him.  He's pretty spry for a bent snake, too!
~~~~~
I'll be gone for a little bit mid-June.  Wasn't planning on going anywhere this year, but the band was hired to perform.  I feel trepidatious about going.  Hey, spell check?  Trepidatious is TOO a word!  And I feel it.  About going on this trip.  I hate that I no longer anticipate fun, but rather worry about everything that can and will go wrong.  Sigh.
~~~~~
I started taking a B-complex vitamin because I am exhausted all the time, and who wants to live with that?
~~~~~
This blog could double as a sleep aide.  You're welcome.
~~~~~
What's on your mind?

Lo's Question

"What do you want?"

I'm not sure.

"Not good enough.  What do you want?"

I don't know.

"What do you want?"

I'm not...

"What do you want?"

I don't...

"You do.  What do you want?"

...

...

...

"I am afraid of the answer."

And then he was gone.

Memorial Day

Photo found here and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.

Many of my family have served their country in the various branches. My brother was in the Army, but thankfully got out when yet another gopher hole tried to eat his ankle. Don't ask. My Uncle was in the Air Force, even flying Air Force Two for a while. My Grandfather was in the Coast Guard during World War II. I have a cousin in the Air Force. I believe he flies Airforce somethingorother from time to time. I have a friend who was in the Army during the Vietnam War (conflict, my ass!) - I never once resented the calls at three-o'clock in the morning; nightmares shy away from friendly voices, from reason and reassurance. Another friend was in the Army until it broke his back - literally. He survived, but not his plans for a lifetime in the military - they don't want broken people, no matter how useful or clever they are. Someone's family is jam-packed with folks who've served - mostly Navy, I believe - and deserve some respect and thanks. So...thanks.

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. Veteran's Day is for honoring the living. That's why they get two days, and so they should. Men and women stand up and make targets of themselves to maintain our freedoms every day of the year, so the least we can do is take two days to tell them "Thanks. Thanks for acting against human nature and protecting me and mine. Thanks for losing an arm, a leg, a life so that I don't have to."

It's not about the politics. I'm non-violent. I don't think war is ever a reasonable response to conflict. I don't believe that wars are fought for ideal, but rather for political and/or financial gains. I won't forget, though, that people have laid down their lives so that I may stand on a street corner protesting (I never would) them, or denigrating (never, ever!) them for their service.

Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.

Safe Haven

Saw this today as the Evil Genius, Sprout, and I were preparing to watch The Life of Pi.

What struck me was the very idea of a safe haven, a place where one may seek shelter, take comfort...something I both have and have not, myself.

There are places I can go, of course, and people who love me better than I deserve...but where I should most feel loved, wanted, and protected?  I do not.  I find that terribly...sad...

It looks like a lovely movie...perhaps I will see it when it's on Netflix...

Peculiar Focus

I am agoraphobic.  I believe I've mentioned.  So by nature, I am something of a homebody.  Sometimes, very much a homebody.  As in, I don't want to leave the home so my body stays right on inside where it belongs.

Don't get me wrong, I adore nature and think the world is a beautiful place.  I am equally enamored of the sea, the mountains, the plains - all of nature is a place of wonder and delight to me, and I revel in it.

But sometimes...

Well...

Sometimes I just can't handle the revelry.  Sometimes it's all just a bit too much.  It's not the nature, the openness, the vastness of the world that bothers me.  It's more the people.  Leaving my house means I must mingle among the mundanes.

Again, don't get me wrong, mundanes are often simply lovely folk.  A few of 'em, though...a few of 'em ought to be labelled, carry a sign, have a light or some doohicky that warns a body that they're not of the nicest sort.

Some days, I just can't muster what it takes to face the possibility of those sorts of mundanes.

On really bad days, I don't want to go get the mail, answer the phone, or even be online.  Too danged many people trying to suck the life out of me.

Occasionally, though, it doesn't much matter how much my crazy is doing the Cha-Cha in my brain - I have to go out.

I don't have pills for this, and I don't drink or take illicit drugs to deal with it.  I just...go all Nike...and do it.

Now, lest you are tempted to turn to the agoraphobe in your life and point and accusing finger with the addmonition "See, she can do it!", you should understand some things.

My van is a mobile safe place.  If I cannot get away with burrowing under the covers until the world plays nicely, I can at least feel a little better about leaving my home because I have Rosie the Mule and now Miss Tessbacher to cart me about.

A number of the places I go are sort of default okay places - this is why I drive past two other markets to get to my Publix and avoid the Evil Empire like the plague.  Also, my local Publix is full of nice people who know me, are good natured and kind-hearted, and some of whom know how to spot the signs of a bad day and are inclined to ease my passage through their world.

If I must leave my beloved van and enter into a foreign land (any place not in my regular pattern is Siberia to my beleaguered brain) and I do not have the children with me, I have music and earphones, which help remove me from the unpleasant physical reality I am experiencing and loft me to a place of sonic calm.

There are time when I am completely out of my comfort zone, though.  At the park, for example, where I cannot hide in the van or between earphones because I need to be watching my kids.  At the indoor play place.  Anywhere or any time I should be minding my children and not my crazy, in fact.

Those times, I focus. Not inward, but outward.  I hear it all, see it all, widen my perception to include everything.  Never mind trying to block out the too-much-ness of it all, I blast my neurons with input until they are so busy processing they can't fear.

It is exhausting.  I feel wrung out and empty after, like a small creek that has had a one-hundred-year flood and is now experiencing drought.

I don't like it, but it works.

I have been working it a lot, lately.  I really want to be at home, quiet, not dealing with what's outside my walls, but that's not an option right now.  Instead I must take a deep breathe, say a silent prayer, and take that leap into my peculiar focus.

Hey, Mom...

Challenge.

The Evil Genius has a small surgical procedure this morning.  It's no big deal, but the recovery will be...umm...a challenge.  No running, jumping, climbing, lifting, bike riding, wrestling, or strenuous activity for two weeks.

Two.  Weeks.

We'll see who hast the worst time of it...

Evidence of Things Unseen

A cup of water on the table.

A sock on the living room floor.

One less Pop Tart in the cupboard.

A wet towel on the rack in the bathroom.

The occasional thump or thud heard from a distance.

An ever-increasing pile of laundry.

While I cannot prove anything, I believe there's a tween in residence at Casa de Crazy.  In an attempt to lure it out of its den and into open space, I am baking orange roll pull-apart bread.  If that doesn't do the trick, nothing will.

Me 'n' Jesus Have a Chat

I had one of my semi-recurring dreams last night.  I say "semi recurring" because the dreams happen fairly often, but they aren't always exactly the same.

In them, I am chatting with Jesus.

No, not the Jesus who hangs out in the Home Depot parking lot waiting for an offer for work - although he's worth chatting with because he's got an incredible work ethic, a really solid family foundation, and a keen sense of humor.

I mean the Jesus that so many people SAY they follow, but so often fall short of.

Oddly, me being pagan and all, he and I converse on a regular basis.  I think I amuse him.

So, last night we were chatting over tea and cinnamon rolls - he likes my cinnamon rolls - and he was a little...melancholy...

I asked him what was wrong...because I can be sympathetic once in a while if I make an effort.

"What's up, J?"  He lets me call him that because he knows I'm just teasing him.  So few people are playful with him.
"Oh, you know..."
"Maybe, but tell me anyway."
"Well...people kill in my name, and it makes me sad."
"Yeah...I don't understand why they do that."
"And they're fighting wars in my name.  That hurts."
"I bet, you being so peaceful and all."
"And they make laws in my name denying people equality!"
"Mm-hmm...guess they forgot the Samaritan."
"And they attack others, good people, just because those people don't go to my Father's house to worship."
"Uh-huh...and after you warned 'em not to cast the first stone..."
"Exactly!  I mean, all I asked was that people be compassionate, kind, and loving, that they leave the judging and all that to my Father and try to live decent lives."
"Sucks.  'Nother cinnamon roll?"
"Yeah, thanks...they're sinfully good."  He laughs at himself.
"Pfft.  So you wanna come hang out at a gathering some time?  I have a spare tent and you can borrow my drum as long as you don't pop the rings - they're a little warped.  And there's a place at my table for you if you want to sit with me..."
He smiles that sweet smile.  "Are you paraphrasing...?"
"Well, duh.  Anyway, you're always welcome to hang, you know.  I won't kill anyone in your name or start any wars or attack someone just because they don't worship you the right way (or at all), and I won't deny anyone food, clothing, medicine, education, or shelter just because they don't worship you."
"Sounds nice.  No fish, though...I'm kinda over fish..."
"'Kay.  Hey, Jesus, I need a favor..."
"You know how to make your own wine..."
"Heh...Cygnus does, anyway...but no, I wonder if you could maybe go visit the people who are shooting at, firebombing, and harassing a friend of mine...maybe show them how much she does for the community (more than THEY do, you can bet), maybe remind them about that whole judging and stone throwing thing?"
"Well...I can try...but you know how difficult it is for me to get anyone to really listen."
"Hey, thanks...I appreciate the effort."
"May I grab some of these to go?"  He indicates the cinnamon rolls, which are now back to their original numbers.
"Silly, of course.  Sure wish I knew that trick...could use it on a pile of twenties..."

He smiled his enigmatic smile and faded away, and I felt sorry for him.  Everything he endured in his father's name, for the sake of love and compassion, for the sake of people who didn't want him and repudiated him, for the sake of people who hadn't been born and might never follow his path...and the folks who claim to live and act in his name?  They ignore his teachings and use his name like a club to bludgeon the world into the shape they demand it take.

I think he comes and visits me in my dreams because there's no pressure.  I have no expectations, and I don't need him for anything.  We are, in a sense, equals - I contain the goddess within me, and he embodies his god on earth.

I wonder what the world would be like if more of HIS people acted like they truly followed HIS teachings...

I bet he'd smile more in my dreams...

Dreams of Stone

I was standing in the field at my mother's house, nearby one of the hickory trees.  The grass was short.  The air was pleasantly fresh and cool, bespeaking spring.  I surveyed the field, head cocked, and said quietly, clearly "I want a house of stone."

With those six words I said so much more - I want a house unassailable, a house solid, a house that will hold generations safe within its walls, a house that even nature would admire and respect.  With those six words, I made something happen.

The ground beneath my feet trembled a little, a thrumming vibration that rose up my legs, hummed along my spine, and made my teeth buzz the tiniest bit.  Up from the earth, just where I had been considering its placement, stone rose.  Rooted in, born of, the bedrock, the house rose up with stately grace, settling into itself as if it had always been there, always would be there.

My house.

There were windows, great swaths of glass to let in air and light.  There was a porch wrapped entirely around it, an embrace between inside and out.  Chimneys spoke of fireplaces within, and I knew they would be large, friendly, inviting hearths suitable for warming nearby spaces.

There were, however, no doors on the outside.  The only way in was to know one was home.
~~~~~
Before me was a block of granite.  In my hands were hammer and chisel.  I could see what the block wanted to be, the lines and curvatures that yearned to be coaxed from the stone.  I knew, to the bone, that if I touched chisel to stone and tapped, I would ruin that dream-of-being.  I did not have the skill necessary to transform the block into what it was supposed to become.  Better to put the tools down and walk away than to dishonor it with imperfect skill.  I left it for more able hands than mine...
~~~~~
I was a statue on a plinth.  Unseen tools wielded by unseen hands struck invisible blows, chipping away at me bit by bit, slowly turning me to dust.  Just before the final blow landed, just before I became nothing but dust to be blown away by an unrelenting wind, I woke.

Rest easy...

This 'n' That.

Busy week.  I was in Gatlinburg on Monday and Tuesday, recording with two of my band-mates (K2 and Otter) and another band.  It was fun, a challenge, and I enjoyed it for the most part.  The drive up was beautiful - we took 441 through the Smoky Mountains.  I was afraid we couldn't because until Monday morning the rout was closed due to a landslide.  Just in time, it reopened.  Hurrah for us!

We left Gatlinburg Tuesday night and drove home - I was driving, no sense taking three vehicles.  I didn't get home until after 2:00 in the morning!  Wednesday I took the kids to the park, then started registration for the Grand Am race.  Grand Am pretty much took up the rest of the week.  I think it went well enough...at least, no one complained to me about anything.  I took the kids over with me and they had fun running about and playing in the dirt.  There's so much sand in our septic tank, the microbes probably have a resort...

I am looking forward to a hopefully quiet, uneventful Sunday, because next week is already looking busy, and somehow I have to squeeze in more studio time because one of my tracks needs to be relaid.  Then next weekend I am working at another race track as a control communicator, and then we are heading to Florida for a performance.  Whew.

I am exhausted, and there doesn't seem to be much of a respite in sight, but at least it's a good kind of busy.

How was your week?

Thoughtfetti

Monday is Mum's birthday...but instead of spending it with her I am going to Tennessee to guest-record with another band.  I hope she has a good day.
~~~~~
I used to tell people I am a writer.  I don't feel like a writer any more.  I don't feel like writing, and I don't feel that it matters.  I am tired of trying to carve seconds out of the day to cobble together a few weak sentences for a story no one's interested in and that doesn't go anywhere anyway.
~~~~~
I can't even manage a full-on blog post.
~~~~~
Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself.  My chosen craft is devalued or outright unwanted.  I am tired of chasing after people and begging them to look at what I've written.  I'm tired of feeling like I am whispering into the wind.  I am tired.
~~~~~
I am enjoying the process of recording.  I think this will be our best CD ever, not because of where or how we are recording but because we are working so hard at it.  Still...it is exhausting.  Frustrating.  I want it to be done perfect now, and that's not how it goes.
~~~~~
If I can't finish my part of the CD on Monday morning before K2, Otter, and I go to Tennessee, I won't be able to finish.  It won't matter...the things left undone are small percussion parts and I am probably the only person who will care...but I hope I can get them done on Monday.
~~~~~
Maybe I am still feeling sorry for myself.
~~~~~
I am grateful to be part of my band.  Individually, we are all okay, but together?  Somehow, our rough spots even out and we make musical magic.  I want to take the way I feel when we are deep in harmony and spread it throughout the rest of my life.
~~~~~
What makes you feel good?

The Oddest Things...

...happen when I'm not home.

Bear

It's funny, isn't it, the lasting impact a person can have on one's life?

I don't have any childhood friends.  I had friends as a child, though few, but none of them made it to this point in my life.  A lot of moving about will do that.

I keep loosely in touch with some people from my boarding school days...and I thought of them as friends then, but as some sort of curious, limbo relationship now.  I believe that if any of them should tell me they need me to come and help them, I would.

I have no contact with anyone from high school.  Again, I had a few friends, but our lives took us in vastly different directions, and whatever we had then, it was not strong or elastic enough to get to now.

College?  Best let that go.

A short time after college, I met Patrick.  Patrick and his lover Fred were the first gay men I ever knew as gay, open, living their lives together.  I adored them.  Once, Fred made me breakfast on my birthday.  He was a marvelous cook, was Fred.  About a week later, he died.

We combined his ashes with an ex-lovers's and scattered him somewhere I won't name for legal reasons.

Through Patrick, I met Bear.  His name wasn't Bear, but that's what I called him almost from the start.  We played ExCom, UFO Defense until all hours, sometimes all night and into the day.  His boyfriend didn't appreciate it.  Neither did Mum, with whom I lived at the time.  We soaked in the hot tub and laughed like loons together.  We played D&D.  Mum tolerated it better than the lover did.

When I moved out of Mum's house, it was into an apartment with Bear and his lover M (who, it turns out, really didn't like the idea but had no say because he didn't pay the bills)(and resented me deeply).  We would often go not-so-skinny dipping in the complex's pool.  When I moved out from that apartment and into my own place, it was within walking distance, and Bear and I spent many days and nights together, friends always.  Through Bear I met JS, Otter, and K2, as well as Joelicious.  When I hurt my back and couldn't move my legs, it was Bear and Joelicious who picked me up, straightened me out, folded me into a vehicle and drove me to the hospital.

These became my net, my web, my Tribe.  Because of them I met PJ, Butterfly (who died on my birthday, drifting from this world on the notes of the songs we sang him), Straws, Sexy E, and a host of others.

We made music together.  When some of us wanted to get more serious, we split our band in two.  They kept the name, we kept the original music (mostly because I wrote it and wasn't going to give up my right to sing what I wrote).  In many ways, it was a bitter parting.  Bear had hard words over it, and we drifted apart for a time.

Not long ago, we struck up a sporadic thread of a conversation...an e-mail here and there, a friend request on Facebook.

I kept track of him through others, always hoping he was happy, had a loving partner (he was not an easy Bear to live with, and good partners are thin on the ground, you know).

I had hopes that we would reconnect, silly old Bear and I, that he would meet my children and, rightly, adore them...and that they would climb him (he was quite large) and hug him and tease him, pull his beard, love him as Mama's friends are loved.

He died today.  On April 7, Shayne Michael Patrick, silly old Bear, the one person with whom I could do tandem Tarot/Rune readings, the man I once told I would carry a baby for as soon as he could keep a houseplant alive for more than a year, the man who helped transform me from the scared, scarred, introvert in the corner to the woman on the stage, the man with the sometimes gross, often earthy, usually loud sense of humor stepped through the veil and left a large, empty place in this world that will not soon be filled.

I will be looking for you to return, Bear...a spirit so large, loud, and hilarious can't possibly linger long on the other side.  I'll be waiting...

Thoughtfetti

Started recording Friday at Root Cellar Music Studio.  Good times, well run, productive - we may get this done in time for our first event, after all.
~~~~~
Sprout has been sick - vomiting, diarrhea, fever...poor little thing...she acts chipper and happy, then she'll get listless, vomit, and nap on Mama for a bit in the morning...afternoons, she seems okay except for wanting a little more love and nap time.
~~~~~
Recording again Monday and Tuesday, a marathon for us, but I have hope it will see us finish...and well worth it.
~~~~~
I'll be in Gatlinburg on the sixteenth, guest-recording for Tuatha Dea on their new CD.  I am so excited - I adore them, and was mighty chuffed to be asked!
~~~~~
Despite recording and feeling like I am DOING SOMETHING...I am battling an ugly depression and feel myself losing ground.  Being "Mom" means I can't hide or sleep or just take off and lose myself for a few days, which is a blessing and a curse.  This feeling of futility and constant weariness can go away any time, fine with me.
~~~~~
I'm tired of politics.  I am tired of politicians.  I am tired of people constantly battling it out with cartoons and quips and cooked statistics on Facebook and implying that anyone who doesn't agree with THEM is either evil or stupid.  I am neither (on a good day) and resent the implication.
~~~~~
I will muddle through, somehow, but if I keep crying this much I am going to be dehydrated...
~~~~~
Did I mention I am looking forward to recording with Tuatha Dea?  'Cause I am.  Added to the fun, K2 and Otter will be coming, too, so we'll get to have some time together like we used to get before we all got married or employed and life kinda took over.
~~~~
Someone did a serious clean-up of our bathroom, and now there's no more kitty litter in the tub (falls off their paws when they jump in and up onto the window sill) so I am thinking there's a nice, long soak in my near future.  Sweet!
~~~~~
What're you up to these days?

The Beat Goes On

We begin recording our eighth CD on Friday.  Thursday is our final full rehearsal day.  This weekend we'll take a break, then it's back to the studio for Monday and Tuesday.  We have high hopes we'll finish in three days.  If we don't, it's going to be fun finding more time - April is jam packed for all of us in one way or another.

Here's hoping...

They're Such High-Maintenance Critters

I am keeping some Peeves as pets.

They start out small, almost unnoticeable, but with time and attention they grow quite large.  Each Peeve has its own special diet and housing needs, a challenge when you have an entire herd of 'em roaming about the grounds.

There are indoor Peeves and outdoor Peeves, and they don't mingle.  They're a little anti-social, Peeves.  They don't often interact with each other, preferring to remain aloof in their individual demesnes.  Oh, sure, the kitchen Peeves will interact with each other if they must, as will the living room, bathroom, and closet Peeves - mingling with their own kind isn't as trying for them as is socializing with other types of Peeves.  They are constantly mumbling and buzzing and reminding a body that they're about, even when they can't be seen.  They don't like to languish, preferring to be the center of attention, much to the consternation of all the other Peeves who feel the same way.  Indoor Peeves are a variety of shapes and sizes, but they all excel at being present without being seen, and feeding them requires a little effort, diet being determined by their location within the home.  Try to feed a kitchen Peeve the hall Peeve's lunch and you'll have one angry Peeve.

Outdoor Peeves are wild and woolly looking.  Their care and feeding is simple enough - just let them alone and they'll find plenty of fodder in the yard and garden.  They like to hide and leap out at unsuspecting folk, roaring and gnashing their teeth.  They're capricious, those outdoor Peeves, sometimes docile, sometimes ferocious, and never a hint what they're going to be like today until they're upon you.

Lately, I've been thinking I should thin the herd a little.  Trouble is, finding homes for Peeves isn't exactly easy.  It's not like I can advertise on Craig's List or sell 'em on eBay.  People want their own Peeves, and generally aren't looking to take on an adopted one.  Fostering is right out - Peeves don't thrive on uncertainty.

I could, I suppose, just set them out in the wild and let them sink or swim, as it were.  Quite a few of them are fully mature and ought to be able to fend for themselves if only they would.  They're lazy, though - domestic Peeves are spoiled and will fail to thrive if removed from their accustomed nests, perches, or burrows.

Perhaps you, dear reader, could use a few extra Peeves around the joint?  You know, just to liven things up a little?  Do let me know - I'll even pay the freight.

Important PSA - No, Really, You Should Watch This

Got this via Mum's Facebook page.  Oh, my.  It turns out I can drool and laugh at the same time!

Source: youtube.com via Megan on Pinterest