Well, it looks like we may have found a place to stay (knock wood). Living in a tiny motel room has been tough.

Pooka is famous in Crisfield. Thirty firefighters and an EMS crew saw her stone dead. This morning she was strutting around the ruins of the house like a lion. Somebody better call Stephen King.

No clue what we will do for furniture while we wait for the house to be repaired. Then again, I’m still running around in slippers. The clothes somebody gave me are so big, I have to hang onto the waistband or they will fall right off my ass. Down to 190 now. I look shabby but good.

It’s kind of interesting having nothing. You look around at the extraneous junk people surround themselves with and realize that you don’t need hardly any of it.

I may have found a banjo I can afford. It ain’t much, but I can pay for it myself (if I can afford it, you know it ain’t much!). I don’t want an instrument with strings attached.
Update 3/8: Not buying the banjo. Not safe to spend the cash until we’re settled. Better to just keep a harmonica in my pocket. Oh well.

To the folks nagging/lecturing me to work in public again; please stop. You are only causing me more pain in an already trying time.