Gus, the orange tabby is spending more and more time outdoors these days. Sometimes I join him on the deck with a morning cup of coffee, and other times we stroll around the yard together, checking out the growth of perennials hesitantly poking their way out of the ground. They are right to be cautious as the weather remains fickle, teasing us one moment with seasonal temperatures, and the next, sending forth flakes of white doom.

Trust me when I say winter is a trollop.

Sure, she’s pretty enough when she’s all gussied up in her pale finery, her lacy gloves stamping filagree on icy window panes, but be on guard for the moment should she happen to get you alone. You’ll rue the day soon enough when she entices you into flicking your tongue against an icy flagpole.

And don’t even try denying that you haven’t done it at least once, if not a second time. We’ve all been there one time or another. I’m so over her, and her lusty minions from hell that she sends forth like those flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz.. I’ve been trying to initiate an amiable divorce from her citing irreconcilable differences, but she has sworn to make my life a veritable Dantes Inferno should my petition be granted.

Sometimes I dare to dream of wintering in Arizona. In my somnolent state I live on the edge of the Grand Canyon in a colorful gypsy caravan. I basically survive on locusts and wild honey, but unlike John the Baptist, my garments are not fashioned from camel hair. Camel hair and the heat of the desert creates an undesirable, and might I say, lethal olfactory disturbance of perspiration and wet fur.

Basically I am braless in my dream, and perpetually sitting in one of those folding camp chairs, sporting a “wife beater” tee-shirt, and flouncy boho skirt that doubles as a tea towel. I don’t require TV or internet, and because cell phone service is a no-go owing to the enormous abyss in front of me. The beauty of it all is that I have no requirement whatsoever to communicate with human kind, which is fine by me because the longer I live, the less I like people.

The Grand Canyon as you probably are already aware is a big ass fissure located in the Colorado Plateau. It has had many admirers over the years, which means that me and my gypsy caravan are not first to be in awe of its natural beauty. The oldest human artifacts in the park are nearly 12,000 years old and date to the Paleo-Indian period. Ancient people have continually occupied the park since that time, and there are more than 4,800 archeological sites that include the following cultural groups: Paleo-Indian, Archaic, Basketmaker, Ancestral Puebloan (Kayenta and Virgin branches), Cohonina, Cerbat, Pai, Zuni, Hopi, Navajo, and Euro-American.

Because there is scarce development at the Grand Canyon, I have a panoramic view of the stars each evening. I position myself in my sleeping bag atop the roof of my gypsy caravan, as the idea of sharing the surrounding terra firma with a rogue snake does nothing for me. Nothing.

Revenue Canada does not exist in my dream world where I reign supreme in my army of one. Here in the canyon, they cannot tax me at 30% on RRSP’s that I have already paid tax on prior to investing. They are worse than loan sharks. I’m surprised they don’t keep burly men on their payroll adept at breaking bones.

Like any dream, eventually one has to wake up and face bitter reality.

In the world of bitter reality, I owe revenue Canada five hundred smackeroos. Prednisone is the super glue currently killing me while also suppressing the symptoms of this yet undiagnosed auto-immune disorder. In tandem with this, there is a diabolical and scary sound emanating from underneath my car which translated, can only mean spending more money that I don’t actually have.

I’m burnt out here in bitter world. I have two novels to promote, but the idea of doing so makes me want to take a long nap, and just dole them out freely to passerbys on street corners. I’ve been my own best customer thus far.

On a brighter note, there is lobster here in bitter world, and lots of it. It gives me the will to go on.