
As often happens with doddering old doofuses, you can easily reach 500 words and have to stop for the day even though you are still not through with saying all the stupid stuff you have on your doddering old doofus mind. So that’s when you get a part two the next day.
Things have happened to me in the middle of the year following the sixtieth anniversary of the blizzard I was born during in 1956 that I still haven’t talked about during this Mickey at Sixty topic.
I am, after all, a survivor, about to pass birthday number 61, the year beyond which Robin Williams never made it. I have always said that if the old saying, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” is actually true, then I must be Superman by now. I am now in my third year of not being able to afford the medicine the doctor thinks I should be taking daily. I have had arthritis for 42 years. I have been a diabetic for 17 years. I have been a cancer survivor since 1983. By all rights, I should be long dead by now. How God ever made that mistake, I will never know. Surely it was an oversight on His part. “What? Mickey is still alive on planet Earth? How could I let that happen? Oh, well, maybe we give him one more year to see how that turns out,” God says, and all the angels agree with him because angels never think for themselves, at least, not after Lucifer, that nutty angel in the red pajamas that always carries around a pitchfork.

And what am I actually doing with my year of life that I probably wasn’t supposed to have? Constructive things like becoming a nudist and giving up on wearing clothes. (Probably not a great idea for someone whose corpus strangioso is so intolerably unsightly to normal people.) I went to the nudist park in Alvord, Texas one time. And I liked it. And I have thought about going back on another weekend, but something always seems to come up and prevent me from following through with the plan. But it has been remarkably good for my blog. Apparently having my post Becoming a Nudist appear on clothesfreelife.com refers loads of readers to my WordPress blog. Who knew that nudists were such avid readers of humor blogs by goofy Mickeys? They have helped make my blog post Why Do You Think That? Part Four one of my most popular blogs of the year.

This is also the year of my life in which I was forced to give up on the idea of restoring the swimming pool to life and having it removed, thanks to the bully-boy encouragements of the city pool inspector and the rest of the Nazis down at the City Environmental Services Office.

Dreams die hard… and expensively… by stages. It took most of the summer to get it done, but now my swimming pool is no more.

So now Mickey is a sadder-but-no-wiser Mickey with no more swimming pool.
But Mickey is still Mickey, even at sixty. He will break out the paper and colored pencils and still do the doings that old doofus Mickey will do, writing a bunch of nonsense, and coloring…
stuff, and doing some of it naked.
































Mickey Being Mickey
A new day dawns. It leaves me wondering. Who am I today? Who will I be tomorrow?
The opportunity to have any sort of control over who and what I am is coming to a close. I don’t really know how much longer I have before pain and illness dissolve me into nothingness. But death is not the end of existence. I may be forgotten totally by the day after next Thursday, but my existence will still have become a permanent fact. Yes, I am one of those dopey-derfy-think-too-much types known as an existentialist.
I am feeling ill again. Any time that happens may be the last time. But that doesn’t worry me.
The important thing is that the dance continues. It doesn’t matter who the dancers are, or who supplies the music.
We can be clowns if we choose to be.
We can safely be fools if we really can’t help it.
An awful lot of awful things go into who and what we are. Those things make us full of awe. They make us awesome. Aw, shucks. What an awful thing to say.
But what is all this stuff and nonsense really about today?
It’s just Mickey being Mickey… Mickey for another day.
It’s not really poetry. It certainly isn’t wisdom. It’s a little bit funny, and only mildly depressing… for a change.
It’s just Mickey being Mickey. And a partially Paffooney gallery.
…To fill some space today.
And wonder about tomorrow.
And just be Mickey a little bit more.
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Filed under artwork, autobiography, cartoony Paffooney, commentary, goofy thoughts, humor, illness, Paffooney, self portrait, strange and wonderful ideas about life
Tagged as Mussorgsky, Pictures at an Exhibition