I have been remiss
in my entry of Jungle
Journals.
in my entry of Jungle
Journals.
So, here's another one.
The process of building my new home wore me out some. Now I feel sorta comfy and not inclined to
expound on my recent travails and whole-heartedly trivial endeavors regarding in their entirety the
single end of keeping my ownself in a constant supply of consumables (the nature of which being
considered contraband in certain circles).
I'm settling in. The dogs wish I would get off my ass cause it seems they can't think of a thing to do on
their own. Now I live on the river so I'm not inclined to walk them here in the mornings since, after all,
I'm already here.
A little teeny baby scorpion just ran across my desk right at me..good thing I had my glasses on, so I
could quickly identify the threat and neutralize it with extreme predjudice and a hardpack of Marlboros.
I must confess that worries me. I have been encouraging the lizard population here and dispaching
scorpions on first notice as a rule. The idea that a little baby scorpion could be on my desk stinks of a
nest too close for comfort. The flashlight has revealed no clues but Muttly is at my feet so he has my
12 O'Clock, ground level.
There's always an edge here, something sharp and ready to cut but turns out to be less a weapon
than a letter opener. I wonder how much venom that little thing had in it. In my cabin I didn't have a
single scorpion after my first year. In my new place I've run across them in my Madame Souflaka
Curtains, in the bathtub drain, on my camera shelf, strolling in my front door on a Saturday afternoon
like it owned the place, in my blanket. I shot one off the living room wall with my pellet gun, and now
this little fucker worries me the most.
That's the thing, after all this effort of building the new home and all the uncharacteristic expenditure
of ambitious energy that went with it, I'm now free to obsess over the small stuff. I really want to know
where that bastard came from, but I'm too lazy to tear apart all this mess that's destined for a shelf yet
to be built. Think I'll sleep in the hammock tonight
It's just another day in the jungle, and it's been a pretty nice day; rained like hell.
tsdaly
expound on my recent travails and whole-heartedly trivial endeavors regarding in their entirety the
single end of keeping my ownself in a constant supply of consumables (the nature of which being
considered contraband in certain circles).
I'm settling in. The dogs wish I would get off my ass cause it seems they can't think of a thing to do on
their own. Now I live on the river so I'm not inclined to walk them here in the mornings since, after all,
I'm already here.
A little teeny baby scorpion just ran across my desk right at me..good thing I had my glasses on, so I
could quickly identify the threat and neutralize it with extreme predjudice and a hardpack of Marlboros.
I must confess that worries me. I have been encouraging the lizard population here and dispaching
scorpions on first notice as a rule. The idea that a little baby scorpion could be on my desk stinks of a
nest too close for comfort. The flashlight has revealed no clues but Muttly is at my feet so he has my
12 O'Clock, ground level.
There's always an edge here, something sharp and ready to cut but turns out to be less a weapon
than a letter opener. I wonder how much venom that little thing had in it. In my cabin I didn't have a
single scorpion after my first year. In my new place I've run across them in my Madame Souflaka
Curtains, in the bathtub drain, on my camera shelf, strolling in my front door on a Saturday afternoon
like it owned the place, in my blanket. I shot one off the living room wall with my pellet gun, and now
this little fucker worries me the most.
That's the thing, after all this effort of building the new home and all the uncharacteristic expenditure
of ambitious energy that went with it, I'm now free to obsess over the small stuff. I really want to know
where that bastard came from, but I'm too lazy to tear apart all this mess that's destined for a shelf yet
to be built. Think I'll sleep in the hammock tonight
It's just another day in the jungle, and it's been a pretty nice day; rained like hell.
tsdaly
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Another Day in the Jungle, 8-19-2007, by Thomas Scott Daly