Just Don't Know

I'm stuck in the middle, at least in my own mind, in an abstract sort of way. This makes no sense but it is what it is.

Left to my own devices I can just remain in dreams and daydreams indefinitely, like an alternate reality. That does little to fulfill the need for security, money, accomplishment, etc. It is a scary life if truth be known. And that is totally unnecessary, I think.

OK. So, in the ever odd world of whatever it is I do, my last favor to the manager at Mr Big's involved an outside fireplace cremation of a tiny deceased pet--non-mammal. (didn't want you to think it was an indoor ritual.) Would I please remove and place the ashes in a particular pastoral spot on the property?

Hell, yea. Call me Igor (EYE-gore) or Freddy, whoever it is that does graveyard chores. I did not actually do the burning. That was done while I was away. It was for me to do the rest.

I felt I carried out the task with dignity and sensitivity. Said a few words over the scattered mess, reverently kicked a few leaves around to make it look natural and that was that. Remember Bill Murray in Caddy Shack? I often worry that I am becoming that guy, except my face is less twisted--on the outside. Inside, I'm a ringer.

One thing I can say, if you really want the organism to turn into ashes, you need to burn it longer than that. Otherwise you end up with a lump of charcoal which looks exactly like the critter. Perhaps the lump is slightly smaller than the pre-toasted version.

You'd be surprised how many creatures' final interments I've been asked to arrange at this surreal estate. Rabbits, rats, birds. Most of these were strangers and not beloved companions of anyone known to me.

What worries me is that this may be priming for a devious plot. It may be thought that by desensitizing me in this way, when it comes time to dispose of a larger, higher up the food chain post-life unit that I will comply without question. I'm dumb but not that dumb. The scary part is that it wouldn't really surprise me. Conspiracies abound everywhere you do and don't look.

I've decided to try to figure out a way to get the right exercise so I can become fit and fearsome. Maybe walking, then running up and down this hill would do it. And I should carry boulders to augment the arms. I suspect atrophy is getting the better of portions of my temple, my body, my instrument--as they say in Hollywood.

Nah. Must be an easier way. Maybe a pill. Steroids? I'll have to look into it.