Morning unconsciousness

Man, I had the weirdest dream last night. I kind of married the daughter of Satan. I’m not going to go into details, since it would be kind of inappropriate, and you’d probably all believe I was a crazy sob. Of course, those of you who stop by regularly, probably think that already.

When I woke up, half-drowsy, my place smelled like yuck. Or yak, maybe.
I always think it’s the cigarette smoking from the day before, but no, it smells like that in the entire building. It’s as though the walls couldn’t hold it in any longer, and let a small one go into the atmosphere of where I live. It smells just the way it smells when someone has killed a moose, taken the meat and the skin and left the skull and intestines laying around. Just outside my window. It’s hard to explain. You have to experience it.
I remember my first meeting with a moose skull. (Not Moses’ skull.)
I was around fourteen, walking Sikki the dog home. The owner, a friend of the family now deceased, lived just below a short but steep hill, and I decided that I was in such a hurry that I needed to take the shortcut through my neighbours’ backyard. As it happened, I lost the leash Sikki was in, and at the time she was young and virile and would run away (she’d done so before), so I just had to jump down the hill in giant steps. I caught the leash middair or something, holding Sikki back from the freedom, when I noticed I was no longer connected to the ground. And when I landed, right behind the house of the neighbour of Sikki’s owner, it was face first, digging it into something biological.
I hate when that happens. You know, picking something up, or stepping on something and you instantly know that shit, it’s biological. That means you’re stepping on a carcass, you idiot.
Anyway, with Sikki secured I pulled my face back, wiped something gory from my face, and looked at what in Earth it was I had landed in that smelled so bad.
It was a moose head turned upside down.
So I know what I’m talking about.

It all got better when I got an SMS from my sister saying that she was having 15 6th graders (11-12 year olds) in class, and they were practicing line-dance on a stage that didn’t actually fit 15 people, and they would have to get it finished till tomorrow. I then knew I was going to have a nice, or at least a better, day.

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