Wolves, Damn It

I had a dream that I slept with a guy with six nipples, down his front, and when I asked him about it, he said he was a wolf. He was, actually, a sorcerer, though not the kid from the grocery store. And we had an epic battle, like Gwion Bach and Ceridwen or Mim v. Merlin and I was poised to loose, and he was poised to kill me and as he moved to do it, I transformed myself into bones, which he collected and put into my bed, where I was regrown.

In telling it just now, I think maybe it was like Thor’s goats, eaten every night and then brought back to life from the bones.

But I woke up this morning convinced that I had heard a story about a woman who did this, who walked in the desert, collecting up wolf bones and then, when she got whole skeletons, bringing them to life (I guess not back to life, because the bones would presumably be from different animals). So, I turn to you, dear internet folks. Have you heard of such a woman? And what was her name?

And, while you’re working on that, I heard a song on Saturday, about a boy who is transformed into a wolf when he is seventeen (I think) and he lives happily as one until he meets a girl, and they go on to live on a farm and have kids. Any ideas?

So, It is True. Mrs. Wigglebottom is a Fighting Dog

People, yesterday was just a crappy day. Nothing terrible, but I was feeling kind of holiday low anyway, then I went to the library and I got stuck in a stairwell, even though it’s been months and months since stairs have given me those problems, and then, I had to drop something off on Music Row, so I thought I would just take the interstate home.

Oh god. Even typing it reminds me of what a stupid idea that was.  For those of you not from Nashville, the easiest way to imagine the city’s roadways are like a spider web pressed into the inside of a bowl, with the bottom of the bowl and the center of the web being downtown. I work in midtown, about 20 blocks out from the river (and thus downtown, which goes, basically to I-40, which is where 13th or 14th avenues should be.  I live almost directly north of where I work, but because of how the road curves, I come into town slightly east of there.

It is about a 25 minute commute, and you go between 30 and 45 the whole way (until the end) and there are stoplights and neighborhoods.

If there is no traffic, you could take the interstate and get from my house to my work in about 15 minutes. But if there is traffic, it will take you just as long, if not longer, to take the interstate.

This is true in many parts of town–it is the same amount of time to take the surface streets as the interstate, but no one does. Which, frankly, is one of the reasons the surface streets are so quick.

So, why would you ever get on the interstates? Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re me and you’re an idiot.

So, I’m in the right lane, because I have just merged onto the interstate. Traffic is at a crawl. Traffic in the middle lane is going faster, so a semi comes up next to me. And turns his blinker on. And starts to merge.

Folks, I’m only going 5. I slam on my breaks and honk my horn, but even stopped, he is still not far ahead of me that he’s not about to come into my side. I honestly don’t know what happened. I looked over and saw a wall of used cars coming straight at my side. I mean, so close I expected to hear my mirror pop off at any second and all I can hear is the sound of my horn and then, I don’t know, I must have shut my eyes.

And then he was past me. Didn’t hit me at all.

So, I get home and I’m making dinner and the new cat is in the kitchen and the dog comes into the kitchen and the new cat starts hissing at the dog and the dog is like, “Oh, fuck no.” And then the dog is barking and growling and snapping right above the cat’s head and they’re running around and dog food is flying everywhere and then they scramble into the water bowl and that’s flying everywhere and I just lost it.

“Oh fuck no!” I shout myself. “No fucking way.” I shout at the dog. “You are BIGGER THAN THAT CAT AND I HAD BETTER NEVER FUCKING SEE YOU PULL THAT SHIT AGAIN.” and so on. She’s looking at me in complete surprise, because I have clearly lost it. The kitty is scrambling down the hall. I’m like I’ve lost my mind, just screaming. “Sit your ass down.” The dog sits. “I have to leave you alone all day with that cat and I CANNOT have to worry that shit like that is going on when I’m gone.” Then I’m all “Get out of my sight. Go on. Get out.” And she goes into the other room to sulk.

And I stand at the refrigerator, just crying a little bit, because apparently, I’m going to cry a little bit every day this week.

And then I think of that old Far Side cartoon where it’s all “what dogs hear” and it’s basically “blah blah blah food blah blah blah no blah blah blah ride” and so on.

And I wonder if Mrs. Wigglebottom’s experience of what just happened wasn’t BLAH BLAH BLAH NO!!!! BLAH BLAH BLAH GET!!!

Stupid dog.

Stupid me.

This morning, over breakfast, the tiny cat curled her lips back, as did the new kitty, and they rubbed their faces together. I took that as a sign that at least the tiny cat is making her peace with the new kitty being here.