The La Brea Tar Pit Doldrums

What is it with life and its whimsical humor? I finally start recovering some energy, and it yanks it away again. I've been at training all week instead of my normal tasks. I was able to get together with the Domestic Other. He was down, so I spent time doing off the cuff cheerleading.

I was happy to do so, and his problems weren't so heavy to him after. I even held to my new mantra to not solve his problems any more. Squashed the impulse to volunteer all sorts of help. I just walked away totally drained.

I guess I'm a weird sort of introvert. Love people, love interacting with them, love seeing people being themselves... hole up like a monastic when I want to get my energy back. Need space when I'm peopled out.

Drawing recharges me. Writing drains me. But I make time to write when I'm drained, and don't draw when I want to escape. What a contrary person I've managed to become. :p

~

I used to think Ben had started the Chicken thing by kidnapping wild chickens out of the state park. That sounded a little strange, but I never questioned it. After all, Ben is the type who might just decide one day to collect chickens.

I should have known better. The last time I talked to my sister about it, she said it was because of the chicken fighting.

"But chicken fighting is illegal!"

She nodded. "But owning the fighting chickens is not, eh?"

"That's retarded!"

"As if Ben would ever get arrested for fighting them." She rolled her eyes. "But he did want to fight them. So he found a rooster on the north side of town."

I pondered this. "There are random roosters running about that side of town?"

"Erm. Well, this rooster was found running at the end of his chain, in a little circle around his little blue house."

We sat there and looked at the ceiling for a bit.

I essayed with caution. "I hadn't heard that Ben had died lately."

"He didn't. But when the two Town Boys weighed in on his front porch for a total of 575 pounds, everything was cleared up."

I snorted. "So he started trying to catch his own at the park?"

"Mnn. But he wasn't very good at sexing them at the fluff stage. Started keeping the hens in the back yard as they grew. But he hit a rooster before he got to ten."

"I don't remember a hen house."

"What house?" Lelo grinned. "They slept in the breadfruit tree. Except the rooster; he was groomed and spoiled."

I stared. "He fought it? Did he win anything? Would they even take his bet?"

She shook her head. "He never did. Couldn't stand to see it get hurt."

This time we stared at the floor. A small noise, and our eyes met in an explosion of laughter. My ribs ached, and I could hardly breathe. It was so like Ben I couldn't stop.