My Dearest Palinode,
I have received a layoff notice and, come Christmas, I will be leaving my current employment. As my current career is somewhat lacking in meaning or money (the two m's that make the world turn) I'm feeling more relieved than anything else at this development. That said, I'm now faced with a somewhat existential question, to whit: "What should I do with my life?"
I had thought to seek the answer to this question through more conventional means, such as career counselling or meditation or severe alcohol abuse. Now that I have found your services, however, I realize that a far easier path lies before me. Thank you in advance for charting my life path.
Anxiously Yours,
Derek Pickell, aka Dreadmouse
http://dreadmouse.livejournal.com
Shucks, Derek: 'tain't nothing. Here is a step-by-step illustrated guide to turning your life around. But first I have to tell you about a woman who died of cancer, and the wonderful gift she gave a young Schmutzie.
In the year of not-too-long-ago, Schmutzie was a child who had never met me, never shot a gun, never kissed a boy. Maybe kissed a girl by this point, I don't know. Hold on a sec.
Palinode: When did you get that crazy stuffed rabbit from the woman with cancer?
Schmutzie: I was in my twenties or maybe my teens.
Palinode: Really?
Schmutzie: I was not a child. It was a weird gift.
Hngh. Looks like I got that part of the story wrong. But the woman who gave her the gift definitely had cancer, and she's definitely dead now. I think.
Palinode: Is that woman with cancer dead now?
Schmutzie: Yes, she's dead.
Palinode: Just checking.
Anyway, this woman with cancer, facing the end of her life, turned her talents to making rabbits out of felt. Here is Schmutzie's rabbit, with a handy air freshener for purposes of scale. It lives at her parents' house.
A closer look reveals that this obscene ventral puckering is in fact a zipper:
Maybe next time we visit Schmutzie's parents.
I'm sure you're wondering, Dreadmouse, why I showed you these pictures. Isn't it obvious? I was going to suggest that you find work with Heritage Canada as an architectural technologist, but after Schmutzie and I visited her family last weekend, I realized that you could make felt rabbitvarks with offspring curled up in their disturbingly pink insides. Materials are cheap, you wouldn't have to leave home, and you would give countless children horrible dreams as they cowered under the button-blank gaze of All-Mother Rabbitvark.