Wilma is dead. Long live Wilma!

Well, fuck.

So, the worst that I alleged could happen while on this silly trip of mine, has indeed happened: my tight-knit alliterate threesome has broken up, leaving the cat and Kate out of a Cooper. Wilma, as she’s known, has blown a head gasket – not the best use of the words “blown” or “head”, as my friend commented. And here I am, sans vehicle. Poor me.

And so I’ve made my way home, or to the place I will always refer to as such: the beautiful state of Oregon. Trixie and I have been welcomed back to stay with our favorites once again, and their neighborhood menagerie consisting of three dogs, two cats and ten chickens. And this? Is where I feel home. Home, home. Holy balls, I’ve missed this joint, and I’m super thankful for the soft landing spot – with or without a Wilma.

Besides, I’ve been in this place before, without a car, and learned quite quickly that Portland does indeed have a very extensive public transportation system that navigates fairly easily. However, aside from the few unexpected peeps I gained from my travels, it ain’t really a fun ride. And it’s hand over foot (is that a real phrase?) longer than hoppin’ on my mini horses and rolling anywhere at all. So. While I’m certainly grateful for the army of hard-working people touring about the vast networks of road and rail about town, I don’t love it. But it won’t kill me – or even remotely hurt me, for that matter. And if taking public transportation is the biggest problem in my life? Ima be just fine.

Meanwhile, my other home and family, Maxwell’s Pub & Grill, where I was behind the bar slingin’ drinks for six years, has offered me some shifts for the month of July. And that’s another thing I’m feeling super thankful for, since I unceremoniously quit my shitty unethical job a couple weeks ago, which you can read about here and I won’t take it personally if you haven’t already. Whatever.

I’m still planning to run away again, once I can figure out the whole hows and whats and whens of things in my life. And until then I am grateful as a Mother Fucker. I mean, if we need to break it down, isn’t someone fucking anyone usually grateful for it? I don’t know, forget I said Mother Fucker, and probably the comment that followed as well, and let’s go with this: I’m just grateful, the end.

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