Wouldn’t it be funny to choke to death on Cheerios, after leaving the, for me, scary world of alcohol behind?
Early Alzheimer’s: the dirty clothes were sitting next to the kitty litter bag, and I almost picked up the kitty litter, and washed it.
“The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind.”
“Reading, after a certain age, diverts the mind too much from its creative pursuits. Any man who reads too much and uses his own brain too little falls into lazy habits of thinking.”
I have been going to a chiropractor for weeks now, and I woke up this morning, and I had myself a beer…I am SO just kidding…I woke up this morning, and my middle back is hurting me a bit, which goes to either show you that nothing is perfect, or that my chiropractor sucks, which I, seriously, don’t think is the case. Life is full of little, and big, challenges, which you can either let get you down, or just realize that they are part of the path of life. Gee, I am so positively philosophical, this morning, but I find that it helps me get through the day, and night.
I am done with my hectic day of things that had to be done. My regular doctor is going to use the blood work that they drew to check my thyroid. My dermatologist cut two moles off of my existence, one on my chest, that I didn’t know was a mole, and one below my belly that was dark, and I knew had to go. We, once again, redistributed food to those who need. I am ready to rest.
I think that a nap is in order, but first I will have to fold all the clothes that are on the bed, and before that, I will have to remove a sleeping cat from the clothes.
Morrison was just licking the empty cat bowl. I should have scolded him, but I didn’t; it is 4:02 am, too early in the morning to play disciplinarian. Mo then walked down the hall to the bathroom, and the only thing that I could think of that he was going in there for was to chow down on some cat turds. It was not too early to scold him about this. With my animals, I pick my battles.
I have bitten my tongue, recently, through some things that I wanted to fly off the handle about, and looking back, I am proud of myself for having handled myself in the manner that I did; restraint of pen, and tongue, is a good thing.
Is it worth standing in line for 40 days, and 40 nights, to get a ticket to see your favorite band play your favorite song?
I’m not sure how good it is to be listening to The Sex Pistols as I drift off to sleep. Lydon’s lyrics, though thoroughly enjoyable, will probably not PROGRAM ME FOR SUCCESS. I may wake in the morning screaming, NO FUN…NO FUTURE FOR ME. I hope that your sleep is wonderful, and I will see you in the morning.
There is this persistent ad that assaults me, to the left of my Facebook screen, that says, “No young guys wanted,” and always features the picture of a young, lovely woman smiling at me. Who the hell told her that I was not young?!
I’m listening to The Stone Temple Pilots as I search for Literary Agents to query about my book, “The Delivery Guy.” I need a job, so I am going to try and become a writer.
Kobain has just claimed the left side of the table on which the tv sits, by knocking over the
books that were sitting there; books that are on the must read next, if I ever go back to reading them, list–I have made a stab at reading each one of them–each one of them is a fine, fine book, but each has failed to grab my attention like it must to pull me away from my computer.
I have put the books out onto the porch, The Love Porch, as I call it; thinking that, maybe, as it gets cooler out there, I might migrate to the porch, and spend some time reading.
I am listening to The Beach Boys. I haven’t listened to The Beach Boys since I used to overdose on them back in ’75 cruising the beaches of Venice and Sarasota, Florida, tall boys on the passenger side floor, 8 track tapes singing out loud. I still remember most of the words to most of their songs.
Time passes fast. It was 1976 when I was cruising those Florida beaches. I must stay focused, and get done what it is that I have come here to do.