||[Sep. 12th, 2011|09:03 am]
My brother, Elliot, and I are eating at Taco Bell. Suddenly my brother tells Elliot to look at his taco. Elliot does, and then throws it down in disgust. There is a worm, or something like a worm, alive in it. My brother's has it, too, as does mine. We all spit out what we were chewing, and throw all the food away. What were those things? Not worms, maybe caterpillars? We decide against complaining to the staff. After all, it's Taco Bell. What did we expect, really?
I go outside to smoke my pipe. I see a thing crawling on the ground. It is the exact same creature that was in our tacos. It is a caterpillar, about an inch long, yellow and shiny. I place a cup over it, telling the other man out here with me not to bother it. I run inside and call for my companions. I bring them back out and remove the cup with a flourish. To my dismay, it has changed, metamorphosed into a different kind of caterpillar, one covered with those hair-like spines. It is still yellow, but now with black accents. The tips of its spines glow like fiber-optics.
My brother pulls some off and eats them. I protest, but he explains that we already ate part of one of these caterpillars, so eating more of its spines won't hurt. That's not exactly what I meant, but whatever. I ask him why would they hurt, anyways? They are poisonous, he says. I noticed that, as a I ran my fingers over them. My fingers became hot. The poison is in you forever, my brother says, but probably won't kill you, unless you are exposed to radiation, which activates it.
Later, I have to go to Pittsburgh with Elizabeth. We take a huge RV, which she insists on driving. I'm a little concerned, since she doesn't drive, but she does a fine job. I am constantly trying to pee in the bathroom, but never can. There are some very narrow apartment buildings in Pittsburgh, only one room wide. I would very much like to own one, until I realize that they are all basically condemned because they are tipping over.
Presently, in real life, I am at the art museum. I have no fucking clue what I'm actually supposed to be doing, or how long I should stay, or if anybody cares, etc. At Stan Hywet, my "boss" gives me specific tasks. I like that better. I don't like nebulous, "we have to get this work done in the next several years, but which thing we do when, in what order, and how long we spend on each individual task, aren't really issues" types of things. I prefer "Do this now, have it done by the end of the day, and then tomorrow do this".
I guess none of it matters, since I'm not getting paid, and anything I actually do is just less work that a paid employee has to do. I wonder if we'll go out to lunch at the Orangerie Mall today. I look forward to that, at least.