I'm going to heaven in a ground pea shell.

I've been outside watering my yard. I have to admit it's a relaxing chore, standing in my yellow monkey pajamas, spraying a shower of water over good stuff what grows on the ground. It's just water, coming out of an old green hose. I should confide that I bought myself a new nozzle at the weekend. The other one was leaking and getting me wetter than the grass. It's an $11.49 version of a new party dress. And goddamn if I don't love it.

I don't have any money. I've mentioned that, yeah? A few weeks ago, I applied for a job working a couple of nights a week in the grocery store. I didn't get the job. I didn't even get an interview. I see the manager hired her boyfriend. They were in the newspaper the other week, in the police blotter, after some hullaballoo at their house, a few doors away from mine. I had thought I was a shoo in, but apparently they went with someone with a little more domestic violence experience. If I asked you to be a reference, you can stand down.

I took a nap tonight. It wasn't a luxury. I haven't slept in a couple of nights. Look down there. The bare bulb? Still burning. It's symbolic, or just fucking ugly. I can't bring myself to hang up some old raggedy ass dark blanket by pushpins. I have pretty sheers and that's the way it's going to be, buster. My neighbor hasn't been home now in at least a day and a half. Her son-in-law, meaning the 26-year-old boy who knocked up her 18-year-old daughter, was walking the dog. I asked if she was coming home. He said no. I said, I can't sleep with the light on, is there any way you can leave it off? Apparently not. He wants people to think someone is there, he said. I was going to suggest they water the lawn once in awhile, but for some people, nothing screams Home, Sweet Home like a bare bulb and some shitty brown grass.

My 80-year-old neighbor, Herb, must have seen some activity down here, because he was tapping on the door post-haste. He brought me "Mr. Blister." Seriously, that's its name. It's some heater thing that warms up the glazing compound one uses when replacing panes of glass, which is one of my projects. It's called "Mr. Blister," Electric Paint Remover. "Mr. Blister" is old and has one of those cords that used to light on fire. You know, stripe-y? I can also use it to take off difficult blistered paint. Let me tell you this: it was made in America. In Plainville, Connecticut, to be specific. Some people know I have a fondness for Connecticut. Cos of the drum kits. And the power tools. I want to play with Mr. Blister. Would it be really bad if I went outside now?

Herb drives around town in a golf cart. He just repainted it. It's fuel efficient. The impregnating boy drives a big black truck from his house to my neighbor's. They live precisely four and a half houses away. I am sorry not to have pity on people who drive; I do admit I am hoping they start having some common sense when it comes to wasting fossil fuels. (God fucking dammit stop driving every minute.) This is easy to say because I cannot afford a car or insurance or gas. I never have been fluid in this regard. And? The last car I had I burned the engine cos I never checked the oil; it was a 1972 Volkswagen.

I've been watching Mad Men on recommendation from a friend. I think he was in advertising once. If you ask me, it's kind of crap. Throw a bunch of one-liners at three martini lunches and put a tight dress on the girl and call it a night. Nice work if you can get it. And if you get it? Won't you Western Union me $150? Baby wants a t-bone and some chives on her taters. And by taters, I mean taters.

I don't know about this political stuff. Four years ago, I decided to take a long nap. It's hard for me to say more than that about the state of the world. It really is. What's there to do, short of grabbing a sharp machete and a really good bean burrito? Here's a secret: I was a big Lord of the Rings (movie) fan. It was a surprise to me, too, believe me. Not to sound gay, but that heroic shit inspired me. Inspired me to get more popcorn, it's true, but it was organic popcorn. In the movie, they said "This is a good day to die!" and they didn't mean, "Let's die for oil and then the rest of us go back to our hovels with one leg and a can of Diet Pepsi! We can drink vodka and Red Bull from the first to the fifth!" I honestly don't know if there is any solution or solution or, um, solution to try to combat these evils. It doesn't seem like it to me. I don't really believe in evil. I believe in horrible. And Clorox Wipes. More on that later.

I'm not here in this lickle town to skulk and yearn for days of yore and justice. I'm here cos I kept getting fired and evicted and my mom bought me a house she could afford. And because sometimes, it feels like the only thing I can do is water my plants and pitchfork some steer manure when I'm feeling wealthy. Me, the water, and the Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

And nah, that's not me. That's Mary Lou Lord. I heard she even pawned her old milk cow. Damned Freddie Mac!