*The Good Jeebies, are positive heebeejeebies, created through laughter, music & spending time with folk who make you happy. In oppositition ‘Bad Jeebies’, are the negative energy you get built up inside you from the effort of being polite to irritating customers & smug middle management.
It’s just me & my murdering cat at home now for the time being. And even though we have a pre-existing three year relationship, during which I rescued her from the inbred backwaters of Kirkby, I think we’ll still a fair bit to learn about one-another.
Oh the look of horror on little Mitzi’s face as I sang along to an Alanis Morrisette song. To be fair I only ever dig this stuff out from the mossy mires of time, when I’ve just broken up with someone. The look said ‘I’ve never seen this side of you before, this is not acceptable!’ She’s prolly worried that living alone with just feline & Alanis companionship, will drive me to become a bitter spinster of a cat lady…which means more cats & my Mitz ain’t the sharing type. This means war. She’ll be maiming vaguely eligible men in the street soon, dragging them back to the flat as ‘offerings’. ‘Look at this one! He’s got an i-phone, there must be some app on it to train him to feed me on time lady!’
Along with comically musing over my agreements & disagreements with ’21 Things…’, I have many a way of purging my neurosis. Only trouble I’ve done it all before. I find pouring certain traits into characters I write, is most therapeutic. I abuse my power over them to yak up elements of weakness or weirdness I want rid of. And quite often this works, at least temporarily. I’ll be able to read back a passage and think ‘I’ve got rid of that particular angsty tendency, no more of that shit for me’. But now I’m finding that the little f**kers come back! And I can’t be writing the same old rubbish again, else people will realise I’m as much of a twerp as my characters.
…And so I must rush headlong back into the chaos, as my stir-crazy cat pins herself to the window, and plots the demise of creatures in the garden (not least the neighbours’ charmingly batty mutt), and raise a glass, to me & Mitz, in search of the good jeebies.