This morning has been a long one. I woke up several times in the night to prowl around the prison. I ensure there are no burglars or other no-goodniks. Maintaining a constant vigilance is simply part of my life. For whatever reason, I am committed to these people, to this prison. So I did not actually sleep much.
In addition to my surveillance, I was aroused from my slumber by horrifying nightmares. In one, the prison guard and her husband had human bodies with dog faces. In another, we were all hung from the ceiling, spinning wildly, laughing madly. I am not certain what this dream signifies, but it was deeply unsettling. In yet another nightmare, the dog had become my very closest friend. We embraced, enraptured on the couch, sharing dog food. Reminiscing about "the good old days" (apparently becoming best friends with the dog impaired my ability to avoid cliché expressions, because that was the exact phrase that trailed me like smoke out of the dream).
Waking from that dream, I nearly suffered cardiac arrest. But then, one final dream awoke me not much later. Mingus killed us all and was venerated forever as a kind of god-king. The prison guard rose from the dead and she and Mingus danced and danced in feverish circles around the prison- the prison I work so hard to protect (trust me, that small dog isn't working the security here at all; he is more interested in eating the couch). But perhaps my dream was prophetic.
What do my tired eyes rest on upon waking? This scene here. Perhaps the nightmare foretold this abomination! It is a purse upon which reside the countenances' of a duo of Mingus-twins. The prison guard is absolutely relentless in her Mingus-worship. I am absolutely relentless in my awkward grammatical sentences!
I apologize for that moment of self-deprecation. I was overcome. Please consider what it means to be one Luco de la Cabeza Grande. Firstly, the prison guard has my name wrong; she calls me Luco la Cabeza Grande. Secondly, she thinks I have large head. Thirdly, I suffer innumerable degradations like this each and every day. The worst of which is the fact that she brought home a dog. Why would she do this to me?
Allow me to continue. After these three slights, slights I must bear in silence, made to act the fool, comes the fourth and final insult. This Mingus-veneration. This Mingus-worship.
What is it about this small, orange cat? If you will pardon the colloquialism, what's he got that I don't? I am not sure what is so wonderful about Mingus, so I will never even begin to comprehend how to compete with him. Is it his adorable face? His saccharine devotion? His involuntary purring? His great capacity for love?
Is my tireless work protecting this prison entirely worthless and furthermore futile?