I don’t know her name. She’s the one with the goofy smile and the cute freckles. Anyway, the interns aren’t supposed to break the seal of the basement bunker and disturb me until they are sure the outside world is safe again for me.
Clearly, with Halloween having just passed, November arriving, Election Day less than a week away, and Snow Miser’s return imminent, it was not time to unlock the giant steel doors that lead to my inner sanctum.
I didn’t even take off my gas mask to address her. That’s how pissed I was at being disturbed during my afternoon meditation (that’s what I call it, but I was really just reading a comic book and pondering why the world sucks).
“What do you want?” I demanded.
“You haven’t written a blog post in a while, and we’ve gotten several emails from your followers asking about you,” Freckles explained. “I thought maybe you might want to let them know you were okay.”
I shrugged. As much as I love you, Modern Philosophers, you’re all adults and I’m sure you could survive without another post from me for a while.
Judging from the numbers on the blog lately, it doesn’t seem like anyone is reading it anyway. So I was not impressed with her reasons for interrupting me and allowing the outside world to seep into my safe place.
I sent her marching back up the stairs with strict instructions to not show her freckled covered face again until at least after Election Day.
I always vote because that is a right that should never be wasted or taken for granted, but I don’t feel like either candidate has earned my vote.
I’ve got enough food and water to remain in the basement bunker for about a year. If I want to survive the next four years, though, I’m either going to need a better stocked bunker, or I need to turn off my brain.
Ugh. Really? Not since the election of Bill Clinton, the human personification of Homer Simpson, has America been this close to being ruled by a Simpson’s character.
Are we really going to elect Mr. Burns?
Maybe I am better off just hiding behind my gas mask in my bunker. According to the salesman, the mask is powerful enough to block out the stench of Trump.
I hope I don’t have to put that claim to the test.
Work has been rough. Personal stuff has been like a constant kick to the privates.
Last night, I went to dinner with my favorite Vampire, Ana, to celebrate her birthday. After a crappy day at work, it was a nice distraction.
Unfortunately, the evening ended on a low note with my almost coming to tears talking about how much I miss The Sweet Irish Girl.
Vampires aren’t big on tears. I don’t think they can actually cry, so it upsets them to see humans do something they can’t.
Regardless of why they hate tears, it was not the way I wanted to end my night.
Damn that vixen with the adorable accent who won’t stop haunting my heart!
As annoyed as I am with the world, she is allowed to pester me because she’s earned the right to do so.
However, she’s being all nice and supportive. It’s confusing the hell out of me.
At one point I texted: “You’re being so sweet and supportive. Are you sick?”
This is what my life has come to, Modern Philosophers. I’m hiding from the world because all it does is piss me off lately, I can’t shake my feelings for the woman who still owns my heart even though she’s dumped it in a field for the Leprechauns to kick around like a football, and I’m so cynical that I question one of my closest friends when she’s nice to me.
So I’ll be staying in my basement bunker for a while. Send someone to tell me when it’s safe again, and maybe I’ll rejoin society…
Follow me on Pinterest, which I can still access from the bunker.