1-2 Bunnies, Bunnies Everywhere

The next few days are pretty predictable for me.  Get up, read the paper, compost it, eat breakfast, etc.  What I don’t get is why I 1) Never see the person/people/things that drop off my paper, and 2) why they are so obsessed with hiding it between my flower bed and this tree/bush thing… I was never one to grow trees or shrubs, even with my gardening experience.  Hardly matters, I guess; whoever gives me my paper is at least helping me out with my garden, if nothing else.

I’m afraid to check my mailbox though, and despite lack of mailman sighting, I know enough that it’s not a fan letter in there.  I’m afraid to look since I know I haven’t got even barely enough to pay whatever bills the residents near and around Arbordale consider ‘fair’.  I decide to stick it to the man and just ignore it for now.

Besides, the only way I could pay my bills anyway is by selling my paintings.  I will admit, I am a total n00b as far as painting is concerned (gardening had always been my thing until I decided to go on this little adventure), so my first painting sells only for $5, which my brother (hereafter named Bro) reluctantly shells out the cash for.  He had insisted I take one of his patented Hyper-Dimensional Space Pockets, which would allow near instantaneous transfer, when in reality anything we put into it is just suspended in time and space.  In reality, Bro takes my paintings, appraises them, then sends the cash backward into time to my point of origin.  Due to possible time-space paradox, it’s definitely not for the average consumer.  As far as the painting goes, I take an Aspiration hit and my ego gets bruised, but I’m fine otherwise.

Selling crappy art takes a lot out of you energy-wise, though, so as soon as it gets dark I plop onto my mattress and snuggle underneath the covers, allowing unconsciousness to overtake me.  I dream of absolutely nothing once again, which is a fairly normal occurrence for me, and wake up sometime after dawn.

I start on my second painting, but not only is it starting out just as crappy as the first, I begin shouting at the sky in frustration.  If only I had someone to vent to! But it’s so isolated here, and upon closer inspection of the last few days I realized I am not in possession of any phone whatsoever.  The only time I can really ‘communicate’ is through notes or messages via the HDPocket, and that doesn’t really do anything for me since I’m so used to talking to people face to face.

I hear a noise downstairs after my small (mental) breakdown on the balcony, but rather than investigate it, as it’s most likely my imagination, I tear the canvas to shreds so that not even the compost bin would want it.  I’m feeling pretty good about this victory until I realize the only person I’ve ‘burned’ is myself, as I created the art in the first place!

Defeated after all, I go downstairs to take a shower, use the restroom, etc.  Then, after a thorough hand-washing (and the sound of hopping all around the house driving me nuts), I go into the kitchen and prepare myself a meal.

It’s in the middle of my meal that the hopping gets louder and louder, until a large, pink bunny suited person hops right into my kitchen.  He/she/it just stands there over my shoulder.  They must understand I don’t like people breathing down my neck, as he/she/it (hereafter referred to as Bunneh) kindly averts their face and stares at nothing particularly interesting on the wall.  I finish my meal in some semblance of piece.  While Bunneh’s hops are rather loud, it’s voice is non-existent, it would seem.

I don’t know if it’s some insane person that’s hopped into my house, or if it’s this Social Bunny I’ve heard about in articles online regarding people and loneliness (some of those studies were rather fascinating), but I decide it hardly matters as I start venting all my issues out on the poor Bunneh.  They just nod, seeming to understand while remaining completely mute, and after I’m finished Bunneh gives me a hug before hopping into the ceiling/sky/wherever.  It’s at this point I realize just how lonely I was, and whether or not I’m actually just dreaming after all.

By now I’ve gotten used to the lack of lighting in the house, and since tonight is a full moon I try a bit of night painting.  My second attempt at my second painting goes far better, painting a picture of a rather nice looking flower.  Bro doesn’t seem to think it’s so nice, but he shells out $25 for it anyway for the effort, as well as giving me several tips on how I can improve.  Bro, on top of being the current heir to the position of CEO, is a well-known art critic, so I take his tips to heart.

Of course, I was so afraid of selling another crappy painting that I still take another hit to my ego and go into full blown ‘Aspiration Failure’, as the experts in psychology call it.  I start laughing at everything and nothing in particular, my brain basically a pile of mush.  Wabbajack…wabbajack… wabbajack…

The bunnies… the bunnies are everywhere, ah hell.  They’re in my kitchen, my living room, my bathroom.  Hell, they’re even in my brainbox beating away at my braindrum with their large devil-spawned feet of loudnessicity.  Wabbajack… wabbajack… wabbajack…

It’s probably entirely my imagination, but some official looking Therapist guy just flies in from the sky using his  nifty little device, and gets to work on my psyche.  After explaining to me that the bunnies are in fact NOT everywhere, and after running me through some yelling exercises to release all my pent-up stress and frustration…

I thank him for snapping me out of my less-than-awesome insanity moment, and with a wink and a nod he uses his device to fly off into the night once again.

Unfortunately he’s no gardener, so I spend a good portion of the remaining night pulling out those nefarious weeds plaguing my only (future) food source.  Curse you,  nature!  Well, the bad side of nature, that is.  Good side is good indeed, and should stay and make me more juicy tomatoes.

Despite my ‘session’ with the ‘therapist’, I’m starting to feel extremely lonesome again even as I prepare an early breakfast of toaster pastries.  Yes, toaster pastries, because I’m some sort of culinary genius, churning out all these dishes of pure awesomesauce, spiced with a dash of epic win and served up on a BOSS platter.  Yes.  Hell yes.  Hell f***ing yes.

As I walk away from the stove with my overly exaggerated breakfast, Bunneh predictably falls out of the ceiling/sky/whatever on his face.  For such big feet that make such loud noises, he really sucks at landing.  But then Bunneh is a bunny, not a cat… I decide Bunneh can wait as I consume my pastry.

After waiting patiently like the good Bunneh he is, I have a small chat with him, asking him questions about where he’s from, why he shows up, and if I’m off my rocker.  His responses, in order, are to point up at the sky, shrug, and then nod his head vigorously.

F*** you Bunneh.  F*** you.  Either way, he eventually hugs me and hops into the Void (yes, that’s much simpler to say), and I’m left all alone to ponder my next move.

…The bunnies… the bunnies are everywhere…