The day after my son died, I traded a day of mourning for a morning at the Day Job. I gave up music to hear curses I’d level at a meathead jock asshole of an ASM. SIGH, I break “Rule 186” every day at the Day Job. Trade But Don’t Betray Yourself
Madame Justice, I AM a Billionaire right now, but would it be worth being a sell-out for this or that.
Not for Braxton’s life. I keep telling myself, I’m not moving into BARGAINING as of yet. People are too STUPID!!! My ANGER still rules but isn’t that one more way I have broken this rule. Take, for example, my Empathy for Apathy. No, worse, all I had left was ANGER. It’s the reason I hate the ASM and the Day Job so much. THEY remind me of killing my son by giving me the same weapon I did it with. I raged at them and, in turn, killed my boy, trying not to feel anything. When my tears threatened to wash away the blood… dammit. A meathead jock of an ASM had to fuck it all up for me. Now yes, Madam, I deserve Hell.
So with that being the case, I trade Hell for what, PRIDE? I won’t be leaving with that, I know. Um, listen to me, like I’ve been fired now. Yes, I’m back in the time machine because it’s Saturday, May 1. Last week was Hell, and this one isn’t shaping up at all. Friday, I felt a bit like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank, giving a bit of myself for my friend’s happiness. That’s a good way of putting it, Madam Justice. Andy Dufresne helped the other prisoners because he wanted to feel normal again. Indiana’s time has been shattering. If I were a God-fearing man, I would say I’m giving up silver and gold to pick up my cross. The smallest coffins are the heaviest.
How dare I right? Not only for saying that, but B III had a nice long life, but ask anyone with a furbaby. They will always be our children, and I let a fucking job try and destroy me. Braxton’s death has done that sure enough. Now all I have is that fucking Day Job. The Manager told me about my loyalty, and I would be willing to trade a decade of it for twenty days of hatred. It’s been seventy-two days since I met that bastard and ninety-two days now, so yes, twenty. Hell, I don’t even remember the man I was a ten-years prior. Only I’d trade the man I am now to be who I should have been for Braxton. Be Better… Trade But Don’t Betray Yourself.
A dream. a little sex, violence, and not dabbling either. I miss my dog, my friend, my son. It was a crime what happened to him. “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” “Animal Crossing Nope, Just Braxton”
“She’s the girl that guys marry, and I’m the girl that guys fuck!” Kill Theory
What a weird way to start off a dream about my dog, right? He didn’t appear until the last half, if I’m being honest. It took me forever to figure out what this quote had to do about anything other than the movie “Kill Theory.” If you want me to remember anything, it usually has to involve sex or violence. My son Braxton broke the mold with that. Then again, he had a thing for my second best friend’s breasts, and I will never forget that I killed him. Call it being put to sleep, Euthanasia; whatever I ended him.
Most nights, I don’t dream at all, I don’t remember, or they aren’t worth telling ever. I can say to you within The Five Stages of Grief, I live in DENIAL. As always, I fill his water bowl, call out to him for his medication, eat when we both usually would together. On Day Seventy-Two, I moved into ANGER because of the fucking Assistant Manager. I’ve been revved up ever since, and my Day Job has become a battlefield. Before work, I would have said that on Day Eighty-Six, I have moved into BARGAINING. Too many STUPID people are breeding.
So that leads me back to this quote from my dream, and as I said, it’s from the movie Kill Theory, so a short plot:
A man kills his best friends to save his own life. To prove that anyone in the same circumstances (somewhat). That you will kill to save yourself, he picks a group of college kids. They have until Six AM to kill each other. The sole survivor goes free, but he will kill them all if more than one remains alive.
If you’ve been keeping up, I will die for Braxton. Tell me to give my life to save him, and I would do so without question. He deserves to live. We were together for fifteen years, one month shy of sixteen. He was my longest relationship, me and my son, and I mean a life I was responsible for. But I chose everything over him. That’s what killed him. The week before he died, it was my Day Job which explains so much Anger. Also, I hate three people there but the dream. I kept hearing the girl Ryanne Duzich “Amber” say this. SPOILER ALERT she does survive. Her friends died, her love, her enemies…
Ryanne Duzich “Amber”
So next thing I know, I’m in a car alone with her. At least, I think it was her because what I noticed was the moon outside as she drove. It was a pale pink moon that slowly became blood-red, and so was my dread. Ever since Braxton died, I have found that not much scares me anymore. I have a moment of panic every now and again, but like with every pain, I only say, “I killed Braxton.” I deserve whatever I get. Let the cops come, let me catch COVID, or crack some skulls. I can take it.
Anyway, before I freak out, the moon turns into C-3PO’s golden head. And then it’s my Braxton’s face, and of course, I calm down. I watch the moon as Amber drives on, and it doesn’t matter where. It’s the journey, and with Braxton up above me, everything is okay. Soon the sky begins turning blue, signaling a new day. Amber and I are now in this wooded area with rocks and little mini waterfalls. The trees surround the clearing, but then I see a big building to the side. I then discover it’s a replica of Braxton’s resting place. It’s a bit dingy and worn, but his name is right on the top of it.
I’m dressed in a blue robe like something out of The Purge series. Or I’ve been reading too much Succubus Lord (The Cult of Ralston), yeah. Amber is beckoning me closer, but I snatch away from her. She starts saying, “get in the box, get in, join him!” she cries. Now I’m scared, and I refuse. Then she starts saying “Look at me” and starts untying her top. While her voice, I think, reminds me of “Secret Girlfriend,” You Get an Aquarium Girl (Veronica Taylor). Still, I’m terrified, and I begin to back away as she starts to step forward.
Veronica Taylor
Before I can get away, out steps Jessica Garza “Penelope” from The Purge series. “Look at my lambs,” she asks, and then there are these three people in animal masks or maybe the animals themselves. All I remember is a black wolf waiting. So either I enter the building, or I face the animal beings. I start running, but then I’m so tired, and I want to give up, give in. Hell, get off with the two/three beautiful women, but the animals catch me then…
I didn’t wake up screaming, and I’m not sure what the animals even did to me. The wolf was charging, and my ankles were tied in dark blue cloth. Okay, so the four major components of the dream. There’s “Kill Theory,” the moon, the building, and the animals in all:
Kill Theory: The movie’s both betrayal and sacrifice. The killer got away with it, and Amber lived. She had been betrayed by everyone. She ended the film holding the man she loved who had been killed by his girlfriend. The killer said Amber would become like him, but she said she would never. I’m the same way. I’m surrounded by pretenders and people I hate. The one I loved the most died. And I’m half crazy. I live in lust, not love, not feeling anything.
The Moon: I don’t understand what the pink was about other than I love turning to hate. Or something to do with sex. I’ve been staying up working on an erotic novel and didn’t read about a pink moon until later today. C-3PO makes me think of when he wanted to donate parts to R2-D2 after destroying the Death Star. Braxton, of course, watching over me from the sky. I still say goodnight to him before falling asleep. He is my light in the darkness.
The Building: With today being the exception, I would usually be in bed lying in the dark. I told my second best friend I exist in the darkness because everything else makes me upset. In the dark, there is nothing, and suppose I wish I was dead. Only in the dream I fought going into the box. I wanted to stay out in nature. Another friend has been angling for me to try Bushcraft with her. Survivalist training and, like always, JSS Just Survive Somehow.
The Animals: I swear they looked like people at first. And the fact that a former sacrifice in Penelope presented them… Why can I only remember the wolf, though, and a lamb, hmm? But they were all chasing me, further evidence of my betrayal and guilt. I have looked at other dogs lately, and both my friends want farm animals. Did the animals want to eat me, or was I lying on some otherwise peaceful ground? Only I was tied up tight by a cloth-like the one in Braxton’s remains.
To say B III IS a good dog is the underestimate of the Millennium. Braxton Is the greatest son ever, and I can never be free of such love. Only what can a man do before such hate? I don’t want to hate but the Day Job SIGH. B III, B IV
To Will: I AM a Billionaire right now, and you might be too someday if you do like I did last night… just say no?
Being free of certain HABITS. You’re still HURT over Braxton, and that won’t be going away anytime soon. I think I brought it up some time yesterday that it’s been officially three months without him. You haven’t said no to the DENIAL or the ANGER… HATE. Being free of such love, but as Sade sings, this is No Ordinary Love. As Edmond Dantès learned, he could not escape such love. THEY say if only we could love as Braxton loves you. People though… I swear, we have mastered hate. If any consolation, you hate THEM. Being free of hating the ASM, the gemstone bitch, the spectacled spectator. Well, that’s not happening. You might get fired soon. But you didn’t harm yourself or Six Impossible Things:
I AM Finishing Reading, Melody In Lingerie by Imogen Linn Completed
I AM Finishing Gathering, My Braxton’s Albums Partial
I AM Sending Gulp Off To Be Published SIGH Failed
I AM Keeping It In My Pants (Day 121 No Fap) Real Girls Are An Exception Completed (Day 128) No Fap
I WILL Cut The Lawn This Week Partial
I WILL Be The Man My Son Thinks I Am Failed
Before you give me a pat on the back for now having two completions, two utter failures, and two partials. What is this Japan (tentacles)? Um, keep being a monk, my friend. It’s “easier.” As I said last night, I did no harm, meaning giving more money away for… stuff. Before you start crying again as I did when I realized what bills were missing. Of course, they’ve been missing for again three months. Braxton’s food budget, trips to the groomers, tick removal, his meds alone were $45 – $60. Online streaming and artists $71. Before you give in to the nice girl from Twitter to Onlyfans. Or whatever loneliness-reducing gimmick being hocked today. Please remember what you owe Braxton and yourself, Six Impossible Things:
I AM Finishing Reading, Succubus Lord 14: Swimsuit Edition
I AM Finishing Gathering, My Braxton’s Albums
I AM Sending Gulp Off To Be Published SIGH
I AM Keeping It In My Pants (Day 128 No Fap) Real Girls Are An Exception
I WILL Cut The Backyard Lawn This Week
I WILL Be The Man My Son Thinks I Am
B III can’t help you through this week. As you woke up this morning, you asked for his strength. Hell, it’s the only reason you’re awake now after sleeping late. There’re more reasons to stay asleep than wake up. Living is easy with eyes closed, as the Beatles put it. Misunderstanding all you see, you know from dreams to porn, to the Day Job. However, you see all too clearly. It’s those Republican tendencies. Rejecting the evidence of your eyes and ears like something out of 1984. People show you who they are; believe them. Braxton would see you as The World’s Greatest. R. Kelly… not someone you should be quoting these days. This week will be bad, but SIGH relax, B III, B IV
I heard in a cartoon, cease becoming begin to be. I figured it was some fortune cookie wisdom, but then there’s the B I lost, my son. There’s my B minus life… that’s being generous. Ever seen my Six Impossible Things. Will You Just B, who’s that
Hey Lady Lu, I AM a Billionaire right now, but I’ve been saying that for years. I’ve been dog-less for three months. 90 Days Lu
It’s official, B III and I have now been apart longer than ever. So I ask the question, yeah, will you just be? I don’t know who I am now. Lady Lu, I’m trying okay, like it was old times somehow yesterday, right. I dipped out of work, I dabbled in making a friend happy. Decisions, decisions, have never been my strong suit. Case and point… yes, I will never stop saying it, I killed Braxton. Trump has no idea what it means when he would say “die like a dog.” Speaking of which, I’m surprised I haven’t been fired from the Day Job yet. Talk about will you just be because those assholes think they have me all figured out. Why do zombies persist?
That’s a random question, for sure, Lady Luna. But it’s because nobody has figured them out. Sure Warm Bodies, World War Z, and I can probably name a show here or there that has an answer. My point is that they will continually return. With that, Will Bradford is dead. And you are dealing with somebody else now. Before you get all creeped out… well, not you Lady Lu but “Them,” Morgan Jones said this in Fear The Walking Dead. You know Morgan Jones is dead (Season 6×01). I won’t be what the fucking ASM wants. No way I refuse. I would settle for being the man I was with Braxton, although he was by no means a good one. Braxton would still be alive.
Should I be just like the son I lost? I eat the same meals every day, don’t I? I sleep way too much, but that’s because the man in the mirror won’t get off his lazy ass. I was way too hot. So I finally had to turn on the air conditioner. Now that means I’m cold, and now no B. I would rather cuddle B III than rest with all this hate in my heart. Can I even call it resting? Last night I didn’t eat dinner. I fell apart in the kitchen, yelling for Braxton. I came upstairs and climbed into bed and can’t tell you a thing about wrestling; I fell asleep.
Too busy becoming a sonless father. Will You Just B?
Please say Hello to me… that’s after having such a nice dream. I’d forget it all if B III woke me up by running over my face, asking me for treats, or better if I had known something was wrong with him and been his Dad. Hello, Hello, Monsieur B.
Hey Lady Sophia, I AM a Billionaire right now, and I would wave goodbye to all of it just to say, Just Me, Baby B.
Sometimes I’ll say Good Morning Braxton when I walk into his room. The two of us weren’t AM people at all, Ha. There was a time when he would run over my head, eager to go out. Back with my Olds, it would be him barking. Then there’s “Medicine Time.” I’ve been thinking a lot about what THEY call The Golden Rule. I treat others how I would like to be treated. All I want in my life nowadays is peace and quiet. One more reason B III was perfect, we didn’t have to talk… we walked, and that’s how we knew we were ok. People think they are entitled to my voice… fuck people, especially the ASM. Braxton deserved the best version of me.
Now I shouldn’t say all people. Indiana Gone is my second best friend. I worry about M Anime. I still think about Cherry, Okay, even MILF Dos from time to time. But at the end of the day with Braxton, no matter what, I was always me. I got to say hello to myself finally. I could repeat the same stories about Braxton arriving in a monster’s hands. The time I caught him eating my breakfast. How about when he chose me as he jumped into the car? If I kept but one promise to my son, it was this. When I would leave, I told him I’ll be back. Do I look like The Terminator? Better you don’t answer that, my future being uncertain.
My favorite part of the day was crawling up the steps and seeing him. I would pet his head, hug him, let him jump all around, and then I’d ask, “you want to go outside?” Give me that moment forever. The Stairway to Heaven or The Rainbow Bridge, Braxton awaits. So here come the waterworks… Braxton’s last day and I dared to say Good Morning. The hello I gave him after the vet gave me the final prognosis on him, and I held him like we hadn’t seen each other in forever. I can even smell him. The brief moment after his death when the storm passed, there was such sunlight, Just Me, Baby B.
I’ve said hello in many ways. Hello, Hello, Monsieur B
I had no idea how bad Wednesday was going to be. The last one that was so… heinous, B III cried, but all I could do was pick him up, wrap him under my arm, and nap. It didn’t end there; the week only got worse but for a moment. “What’s The B Ending?”
Just Me Baby B, Did you have a good day? I don’t really want to talk about my day, and I haven’t even lived it.
I’m sure you don’t want to talk about that Wednesday when I was feeling this way. Time-Travel, Monsieur B. If I had done more of it on January, 27 perhaps I wouldn’t be here April 29 without you. At present, though, it’s April 24, and you know why I’m speaking. As I tell you every AM, I miss you, B III. I still love you like pancakes, but B, I must confess. Shouldn’t I have done that Wednesday? God, I hate Wednesday and Sunday. Not the days’ fault but mine. So my secret… when I say I miss you, I can hear MILF Dos’s voice. If it’s any consolation, you would have liked her yabbos. Now I know you appreciated Indiana Gone’s, without a doubt.
I was thinking about getting her a picture of you or us. Braxton, she misses you, but that would be weird. Always and forever B, so as long as I’m alive, you will be too until we’re together again. I should try cutting off Youtube once in a while, but um, “He Lives In You.” It’s what I tell myself every day, B, and look at me crying again. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop, but I need something to round out the Anger, especially this week. It’s almost like the one I had when you…. Again I’m not even living this week as I write you B Squared. Tell me something, do I deserve to have this pain end? I finished Camp NaNoWriMo…
Hell, if I had published a book already like Cherry? I saw her this morning, do me a favor, B, and see if you can find a cat named Millie. Talk about “stalking,” remembering some English vixen’s cat on the Rainbow Bridge. I’m still a monk and your Daddy. Braxton, was that even funny? So many things ended when you left, and those that began? I want to stay in the same place, you know, but life has its ways. How dare I say that. You wanted to live and now… was I going to say I want to die? I don’t want to move, I know that. The way our story ended like something out of NieR: Automata. Always, Forever, What’s The B Ending?
15 years, 15 years, and near his 16th birthday found out here wasn’t here. I don’t know why I channeled Kanye West this morning, but I can always count on the background noise. Like me failing, or the Day Job, to make me mad. Can Count On B
Forgive Me Echo, I AM a Billionaire right now, which isn’t something to be bragging about, considering when it comes to my son. Braxton counts.
How many times have I said it; Braxton’s Life Matters. Those are three little words like “I love you,” “I miss you,” “I’m sorry B,” “I’ll help you,” so it goes. Numbers Inspector Echo. Fifteen years Inspector Echo and I so want to say sixteen. Would twenty be enough for me? Hell, I wanted all of his tiny little tan/beige hairs to turn Grey. Braxton the Grey, or Braxton the White. Does that sound mean? No meaner than saying that he wanted to go. In two days, it will be official. Braxton and I haven’t been apart longer than two months and some change. But May 1 will mark three months. Will I still be crying every day for him? I shouldn’t jinx myself, hmm.
I keep talking about step two of the Five Stages of Grief. Inspector Echo, I don’t know if my anger has subsided yet. As usual, I am traveling the sands of time lost because indeed I am so. B III was my constant even in death. Today is April 22, and I’m lying in this bed. The ideas that come… not those, for I am still a monk. By the time I see this again, I won’t have 5000 words to worry about. Now that will mean I’ve done my first NaNoWriMo without B III. I don’t expect the feeling will change much but with my anger at the ASM. Let’s say I do publish. I make enough to quit the Day Job, a bargain.
No matter how much I get, none of it would buy back one day I lost with B. The last five that we would have. As the song goes, “All around me are familiar faces. Worn out places, worn out faces.” I see new babies, fur babies, and how many times have I said, No? Inspector, I lost my family. I don’t deserve another; not like any could compare. That’s the thought that keeps me here. One day I will run out of treats to place in Braxton’s room. Sooner or later, I will look at these Chihuahuas and, unlike God, will say I’m lonely. Always and forever, I will remember my son. He counted on me, and what happened? I Can Count On B.
B III IS always a puppy to me, but he grew up. He can climb the stairs and hop on the bed. B was the angel or devil on my shoulder. Sometimes he would step on my face, and now I see how high he’s gotten. Should I stop crying? B Cause Growing Up.
Dear Future Wife, I AM a Billionaire right now, but why did I want to be? Power, no more, no less. God is Power, right?
Like the song goes, “I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it” thanks a bunch, Missy Elliott. Taking in all the connotations of that song, consider this. I put Braxton down (no, I killed him). As for flip it… if I want to see him, I look to Heaven, or there’s his “coffin.” I should call it an urn. It’s a box that I have to unscrew to see his ashes. Finally, reverse it; what’s God spelled backward… Dog. My Dog, my friend. My son is Power. Braxton is my heart; why not go ahead and say my everything. Um, I didn’t know I could love so much. Then you came along, My Love. That’s not an insult; it’s a fact, my reality.
They say God is love, but again Dog is love. THEY say that most people don’t know what they want. I know long ago when I spelled my first word. As I put pen to paper, I wanted to be a writer. Oh, I wanted to be a sword fighter too, so we both see which one I stuck with, ha. I wanted to be a fighter pilot, a comedian, a wartime journalist. Nowadays, “I’m a motherfuckin’ Starboy” Pardon my French, but my life is pretty hilarious. And how about how I write. I don’t need a war; all I have to do is sit down and bleed. A tad offensive? Such things weren’t when I was growing up. Here I am, crying about Braxton.
I’m just a little boy, a grown-ass man crying about a puppy. I don’t know when I decided I wanted to be a Dad. I’ve had dogs before, at my grandma’s house. B wasn’t even the first Dog I held as he died. I was covered in a puppy’s blood once; my fucking granddad. I’ve told the story enough; the day my Olds moved, and I called to Braxton. He came running without a second thought. I’m sure you’re having second, third, even sixteenth thoughts about the man you married. You, baby girl, have blessed me with children. However, I’m still growing, learning, and I have so much love to give. So I want more, undeservedly after my Braxton, no way. B Cause Growing Up
One can’t only care about the green. I hate someone, not because they’re any color but because they’re a terrible person. I’ve noticed my clothing is more colorful, missing beige and tan dog hair. Just me living my life. Every Drop Of Blood Cost
Madam Justice, I AM a Billionaire right now, but the cost of blood does fluctuate. The fact remains it cost.
Why don’t I go all Bubba with it (ahem) “(blood) is the fruit of the (body).” Yeah, that might not make much sense. Little does going on what, eighty-five days without B III. Something else to be angry about. As always, it’s never at my son but myself and ASM. My how my blood has boiled, frozen, and continues to spill across the pages. Speaking of “Every day, every day, every day I write the book,” should we be chatting today? I continue to time travel as it’s Thursday, April 22, 2021. I’m not a prophet Madam Justice. Now I’m not a historian either, but the thing is, neither future nor past look favorably on me. Tell me which cost more, Madam Justice, looking to my future or the past.
All I know is my hands are stained with blood that I cannot wipe away. Fifteen years and a month shy of sixteen. I wake up seeing red, and while the tears help, where are they now? Yes, I cried for Braxton today but still, when I get out of this bed… fuck such a feeling. As Drake put it, “They tryna take the wave from a nigga. Fuckin’ with the kid and pray for your nigga.” I can only speak for me, Madam Justice but from my tears to Braxton’s water bowl to the sweat and toil of the Day Job. Water… people demand such suffering; it’s human nature. Strange… not really that people want blood, aren’t I a person wishing to be judged for killing my B III.
I went from Paint It Black to Seeing Red. It’s one of the reasons I simply laid in the darkness after the Day Job. In the dark, I can imagine that Braxton is still here. His heart is still beating, the blood we have shed together because “we got enemies.” Braxton’s love. Madam Justice, I must never forget that. If he has gone to the Rainbow Bridge, the first color is red. What’s next, my “Orange Crush,” “Big Yellow Taxi,” “It’s Not Easy Being Green,” “Blue” (Angie Hart), “Mood Indigo,” “Violet” (Seal.) Took time to find those. Can you see why people choose red, blood, and dust? All I want is to find more of B’s hair than hating another black man. In some way, to see the Rainbow Connection.
I’ve compared Braxton to an angel, and I believe people are spelling GOD backward. In that case, I may be trouble if Braxton’s bedroom yesterday was any indication. For all I know, I was stumbling around in there like a zombie. “Behave In B’s Haven.”
To Will: I AM a Billionaire right now, but you can’t hire an exterminator or the Ghostbusters, at least not yet. And why would you?
As the song goes, Lord Give Me A Sign. I ran by one yesterday, and I’m ashamed to say I even stopped and looked. You’re in Hell, so at least have the good sense to suffer and not escape or seek salvation, solace, ha satisfaction. What would B III think of your excuses for alone time? That’s the thing, though; yesterday, I found out that I didn’t have to be… get it. The fact that you remember the five-month-old ball of fluff by the name of Buford and you’re sore about it. It could be everything else you know with Camp NaNoWriMo. Today’s the day. Are you still going to play Grim Reaper and bury a story you’ve neglected the world for? Six Impossible Things:
I AM Finishing Reading, Succubus Lord 13 by Eric Vall Completed
I AM Finishing Gathering, My Braxton’s Albums Partial
I AM Sending Gulp Off To Be Published SIGH Failed
I AM Keeping It In My Pants (Day 114 No Fap) Real Girls Are An Exception Completed (Day 121) No Fap
I Am Not Bowing To The Day Job Under Threat Or Duress Completed
I WILL Be The Man My Son Thinks I Am Failed
Hell, I am not a prophet, and neither are you. At least if I had put finish Camp NaNoWriMo on the list, you would be looking at four wins this AM. It would be almost supernatural. Which is now the whole point; A Hell escaping, undertaker, imagining some Godhood. There’s pride again, and do you think anything you write today will be worth it. All the stories I would write, right here while promising Braxton a better life. And he waited so patiently for me to finish. He still does, only he’s even quieter these days, of so I thought. Don’t jinx yourself. Last week sucked, and this week SIGH, I do not envy you other than again finishing Camp NaNoWriMo. But, Six Impossible Things:
I AM Finishing Reading, Melody In Lingerie by Imogen Linn
I AM Finishing Gathering, My Braxton’s Albums
I AM Sending Gulp Off To Be Published SIGH
I AM Keeping It In My Pants (Day 121 No Fap) Real Girls Are An Exception
I WILL Cut The Lawn This Week
I WILL Be The Man My Son Thinks I Am
What will you do with yourself? Being that an Ordinary Human is the worse type of a monster. You got plumbing to repair (snickers). And you might even get around to mowing the lawn or whatever you do with a weed whacker. Neighbors haven’t knocked. If yesterday is any indication, you’re being haunted by Braxton. I found many of his toys strewn all over the place in his room, and to be honest, it frightened me a little bit. Either I’m more out of it than I realized, or it was a rat. Yeah, a rat that doesn’t eat the dry food and treats or even messes up the table. You just remember to behave; work sucks, I know, sadly. Please Behave In B’s Haven
