Sunday Gifts

This Sunday morning drips like molasses. Though the sun is bright it seems like a fog. All of my movements are in slow motion. Whew ... what a night! I wouldn't be up at all except that Winston, the little gay dog, needed to pee. He started growling in his high pitched gay voice and dancing around like a ballerina on meth. Not wanting to wake Sarah, I somehow pulled myself out of bed. It was still dark but the glow from his little pink toenails threw off enough illumination to make my way. I grabbed the little son-of-a-bitch and took him outside. Goddess followed looking on with amused interest. Since I was already standing naked in the back yard, I stumbled to the outdoor shower and turned the water on. I love the outdoor shower! It has washed away many a sin and baptized me in the hopes of a new day. I have it equiped with a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, saving cream and soap. It's got one of those shower heads that makes water fall down like rain. The sky turns a muted grey as I stand there letting the water fall on me. It is peaceful and calm and I feel myself being raised from the dead ... until ... "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY! is scretched from the deck of my next door neighbor. She makes me believe in the National Rifle Association. She also adopts ferile cats and has several hundred. From under the water pouring on my head, I can see her standing there in her fluffy pink bathrobe, calling her precious pussies with a halo of cat hair swirling above the towel that looks like a turban. "Jesus Christ," I pray, wishing I had a rifle. Stumbling back upstairs I lock Winston, the little gay dog, outside, hurling statements about his lineage at him. Checking on Sarah ... she looks dead ... so I leave her alone. Throwing on running shorts and a "St. Martin Drinking Team" tee-shirt, I drive to The Breakfast Club to pour coffee on my head. As I drive I see ... JUDY O stumbling down the street! This is amazing because The Carnival of Friends were just together a few hours ago. Rolling down my window I slur, "You're walking?" "What?" she answers. "You're walking?" "What?" I roll the window up and continue to The Breakfast Club. Then God decides to intervene. She's had enough of this! Jimmy Buffett, backed by the Oak Ridge Boys, comes on the radio. It's a song reminding me when I went as little boy when my Grandma and Grandpa Carver took me to Gospel sings in Pooler, Georiga. It was wonderful with families singing four part harmonies with real players behind them. The thing that sets this song apart are the lyrics ... My head hurts, my feet stink and I don't love Jesus (oh my Lordy its that) It's that kind of morning, really was that kind of night Trying to tell myself that my condition is improviing And if I don't die by Thursday, I'll be roaring Friday night. Thank you Jesus. You have given me another day to live. I slug the coffee down and rush home to see if you've given Sarah the same gift. "Please Lord," I pray. "Make it so." She's breathing. That's good. Now I sit here with the little gay son-of-bitch dog that I've grown to love licking my feet. Goddess yawns. That says it all.