I learn to navigate any given room by taking note of where the floorboards creak. The first rule of living by proxy is doing the research. And the first thing to research is how to get out of any given situation without being noticed. Don’t let little details like a squeaky step on the staircase cause everyone to suddenly wonder, “What was that noise?”
Just keep in mind that moaning door is always waiting to fuck-up everything. Right when you think you’ve made it all the way through the house without a single utterance from the floor, thanks to your precisely placed footsteps, you open the door to sneak away and it lets out a wail so loud it sounds like it’s straight off a sound-effects record. Cue the woman’s scream. Begin creepy organ music. Make crack of thunder sound.
Some things we have to learn the hard way. That’s why we don’t want to do them any and send a proxy in our place instead.
As Kitty Litterbox, I am currently the proxy of some crazy ding-a-ling who seems to have a mental block against forming good habits. This chick is whacked in the head. She needs me to say shit on her behalf because
[plays with cats]
[makes more coffee]
[comes back an hour later]
well, because she just does.
Hell, who doesn’t need a proxy? It’s a lot of damn work to raise one’s own kids, and clean one’s own house, and do one’s own shopping, and write one’s own life story.
(I’ll take that saucer of milk meow.)
Obviously, the world is full of creaky floorboards and squeaky doors. Chaos is the only constant. I haven’t been able to put my finger on what it is about the personality of the busy-bee, social-butterfly, welcome-wagon wasps (heh, pun), or other affable, out-going insect metaphor-types that makes them so Hallmark Channel meets Fox News, but I know they exist because they go out of their way to make a loud and clamoring exit, kissing and hugging everyone on their way out the door… the door they purposely neglect to shut. It’s difficult for us to understand each other’s way of thinking.
(It’s a ridiculously meandering metaphor is what it is…)
Suffice it to say, it’s going to be remarkably easy for the un-dead to find the ridiculous metaphor-types during zombie apocalypse…
Don’t let the squeaky wheel be your undoing.
Hey, check it out… not every post has to be 1000+ words.
Enjoy the silence. (Watch out for irony.)
P.S Sorry about all this shit.