So things are good now.
We sold the house. The balloon told me to. Now me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head are street people. Living on the street, nowhere to go and nothing to do anymore. No more responsibilities, worries, problems, etc. We just sit on the sidewalk and chill with the balloon of destiny. At least I do. Mr. Happy Puppet Head just sits on the sidewalk and complains.
"God dammit," he says. "It's hot." I nod my head in agreeement. It is hot. And there's no shade on this particular sidewalk. My balloon waves back and forth in the wind.
I feel freer than I've ever felt. Sometimes I'll worry about a credit card bill, then remember that those suckers got nothing on me now. I have niether a phone nor an address they can reach me at. This is great.
"Yo, gimmie your sandwich!" Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells at a woman sitting in her car at a stoplight. She looks over at him, a dollop of ketchup on her chin. "I'm hungry! Gimmie your sandwich!" She turns to look the other way, and drives off when the light turns green.
Street People is the life for me.