Sister Morphine, the Ipod and the Alarm Clock were ...

Gentle readers.

I bet you're rooting for a story about the Ipod getting wet, or a story about an object the size of an Ipod stopping a bullet, or what might happen to a plugged in alarm clock if you dropped it into the washer or the toilet.

It's just not that simple. Since I moved in August. I have been struggling to find everything and squeeze my ever expanding life into a ridiculously small apartment. My father's health has been deteriorating on an almost daily basis. Currently, the doctors are treating him with a designer heroin to manage his pain. At least he has ecstasy on his side.

Here I lie in my hospital bed
Tell me, Sister Morphine, when are you coming round again?
Oh, I don't think I can wait that long
Oh, you see that I'm not that strong

My siblings, their children, wives, and myself have been pitching together in an herculean effort to keep my parents at home, and help them live honorably, decently. My superhero elder brother and his wife carry the brunt of the load. I find myself enjoying the closeness of my family, and the time I get to spend with them. Nevertheless, the time required, combined with trying to finish a cross country move, and a new job leave me occasionally feeling a bit tattered around the edges. I have less time to spend blogging, masturbating reading, and finding crap.

I am gradually becoming victorious. I am not your average sized Joe. I have a regular sized houseful of goods. In fact, when I moved from grad school it took me three weeks to pack the sculpture and studio, and only one day to move the entire apartment. And then there's all the art, and the sculpture studio, then the painting studio, and the 30 or so cameras, and the photo studio. I have a painting that has been on the wall of my home for some time. It's large -- 5'by 8'. It doesn't even fit in my apartment. I also have a working darkroom. It's complicated.

Each step of unpacking involves the determination of 4 possible outcomes for each item. Trash, gift, store, or find a place for it here. It's tedious work.

Today, I found the Ipod, the alarm clock, the kitchen timer, and a few other useful items, like the iron. So I started a load of laundry, set the kitchen timer for 60 minutes. Then I jumped on my bike for a wet pavement, gentle rain, dodge-car sprint downtown to Jeffrey's for a cheeseburger extraodinaire. Just as Sister Morphine came into the headset, the endorphins kicked in. At least I have ecstasy on my side.

Well it just goes to show
Things are not what they seem
Please, Sister Morphine, turn my nightmares into dreams