Emotional Support Parrot: Captain Coconut
Here are some obvious reasons:
It's March in Pittsburgh, PA. That means it's 70 degrees one hour, and the next hour I need snow boots to get my mail. Luckily, my cute mailman, Matthew, brings the mail to my house on potentially hip-breaking days. He even brought me a dozen roses on Valentine's Day. What a sweetheart (I won't tell you his age. Create your own fantasy!).
My doctor just told me never to eat anything that tastes good ever again! On a positive note, I passed my annual cognitive exam. I still remember train-red-grass. Does that make me a high IQ person?
The gale force winds have torn shingles off my roof, causing the ceiling in my kitchen to weep profusely (along with me) when it rains. The good news is that it is dripping right into a sink built into an island work area. The bad news is that my handyman can't put a temporary tarp on because he can't see the roof under a foot of snow. Even worse news is that I will have to jump through State Farm labeled hoops only to find out that they won't be covering the roof (or me!).
Being without power for 36 hours does interesting things to items, previously known as food, in my fridge and freezer.
My Xfinity Comcast Cable Company has decided to be coy about when to offer service, which means that my WiFi is also evasive. I'm not surprised that this happens in a storm since it also goes out every time I sneeze! As my imaginary southern aunt would say, "Bless your heart, Comcast!"
I'm now allowing Captain Coconut to lighten my load and mood. He mimics my voice and even my laugh so that he can be me when necessary. However, nutty bird that he is, he once roasted me in my own voice! I'm laughing at him as I write this because you would not believe what he is doing right now.
If you can offer me any emotional support, it would be greatly appreciated. Just lay your egg right in the comment section. Captain Coconut and I both thank you.
Sandra Warholic Seeley - All my life, and half of someone else's, I have lived in a humorous place called Earth. My muse is a tiny menehune from the island of Oahu in Hawaii where I lived for a year. Ernest Hemingway once sat under the exact same coconut tree where I did most of my writing. I'm also a sensitive to criticism Virgo who loves to get paid for writing and speaking funny stuff. Even though my mind is filled with volcanic ash residue and I'm still finding sand in my shorts, I will continue to write until my muse retires or I run out of pretty blue drinks, whichever comes first. Don't be bashful, email the author.
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