Discipline from the Apartment the Size of My Ass

Discipline from the Apartment the Size of My Ass
I'm writing about 1976/7. School comes to mind. I remembered my headmaster and how I feared him. He was brutal. My brother was six years older than me and had already been victim to the headmaster's wooden cane. By the time I got to school the cane was banned. I instead looked forward to knuckle raps with a wooden ruler, or said ruler smacked across my bare legs, and my personal favorite: the wooden chalk rubber, heavy and about the size of a spectacle case, thrown directly at my face.

I have such fond memories.

Now go and write out a hundred times: "But kids had discipline in those days."
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September 14, 2007 - Friday
The Summer of 1976/7
Giant lady birds, frying eggs on melted tarmac, chopper bikes, Star Wars, golden hair and skin, skateboards, sand dunes, roller skates, heatwave, summer sun, Los Angeles, and California Dreaming.

"All I Need" and "If you're fond of sand dunes."
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September 13, 2007 - Thursday
The View from The Apartment the Size of my Ass
Did I mention the view? I can truthfully say that I have a view of the Golden Gate Bridge from my studio. Okay, there is a freeway, Bart, Oakland port, and the San Francisco Bay inbetween but if you strain your eyes, there it is in all it's golden glory.
The noise. Did I mention the noise? My apartment is so noisy from the freeway that the cats sleep on the bathroom floor at the back of the studio. I haven't had this much noise since living in London. I actually like it, kinda. It makes me feel alive when I'm writing. I'm not so isolated because there's a whole world buzzing past my window at 80 miles an hour.
My building is cute though. I think it's early 20th century (I guess that's old for the USA; my local weekly market in England is a thousand years old, but whose counting).

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Chats that Shit and the Apartment the Size of my Ass
So I moved to a new apartment. I call it The Apartment the Size of my Ass. It is small and cute, like me. HA! I have performed the 'swing the cat' test and I can safely say that there's barely enough room form the two of them and me. They have taken over the Euro lounger, the living room floor, the walk-in closet, and the bathroom. Is nothing sacred? At least let me have the kitchen. But oh no. There's a place in the corner for their lidded litter tray. Jesus H! What are they doing in there? I no longer get woken at the crack by something soft and hairy (keep your minds out of the gutter) sleeping on my forehead. Now at pre-crack Orby and Triny bash around in the litter tray (they take it in turns) for what seems like an eternity until this GinGer starts shouting. To borrow a well loved phrase from a girl I know, "for the love of god," will you just shut TFU!