Wonderings and Wanderings|
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|Saturday, November 21st, 2015|
“That guy was a gas-bag.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He was Mister Gassy Gasterson.”
“Ha ha ha,” Bobby laughs. He sez in a quieter voice: “Is the manager really not in?”
“Nope,” I say.
“D’ya know if he’s coming in?”
“I don’t think so. I think he left for the night. He said he had to go home and attend to his wifely duties.”
“Geez-us, what a prick,” sez Bobby.
“I know, man,” I say. I like how Bobby says it like it is. He just says it.
“I mean, keep your pants to your own self,” sez Bobby.
“Huh?” I say.
“Or whatever the expression is. I think I’m mixing metaphors here, now that I’m thinking of it. There’s keep it in your pants, and there’s something like. What? Keep it to yourself or something?”
“ Sorta like mind your own business? About what you do with your pants?”
“Yeah, that’s it, you got it, Timmy! Mind your own business about your pants or what you do with your pants. Or without your pants.”
“He’s so uptight, I’ll bet he keeps his pants on when he’s having sex.”
Bobby laughs, “Ha ha ha, yeah. Just opens his fly. He just opens his fly and bangs his wife with all his clothes on.”
“And then he poops in the toilet later.” I don’t know why I just said that. I think I just need to blow off some steam after all that anxiety I’ve been having.
|Friday, November 20th, 2015|
|Another Excerpt (Timmy and Bobby are Still a Little Fucked Up)
I feel like this is somewhat like a vision question, even though it’s not an ordinary one. A vision question. That sounds weird. No, wait, I meant to say, “vision quest,” and not necessarily question.”
“Maybe it is a vision question,” sez Bobby. “Maybe we’re out to answer a certain specific question.”
“What do you think it could be?” I say.
“Maybe the question is about tricks. And spiders. All that. Maybe the question is about how weird we’re feeling on this planet.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“How weird we’re feeling on this planet,” continues Bobby. “It feels like things in these time periods are falling apart.”
“Right before our very eyes,” I agree.
“Yeah,” sez Bobby. “It feels like the world is getting faster and faster ever since nine eleven happened. Now that nine eleven happened, everything’s all fucked up.”
“Shit, that’s true!!!!” I say all excitedly. “Nine eleven is when everything started to change.” My stoned vision is seeing all these eleven shaped buildings like the world trade center was shaped. I keep on seeing elevens in my eyes, and now I’m realizing that, on a sub-conscious level, I’ve been seeing nine elevens everywhere. I continue, “Those eleven shaped buildings are everywhere, they’re buried in our sub-conscious. We’re seeing elevens everywhere, but we just don’t know it. I’ve been seeing elevens all along, and I just haven’t been knowing it!”
“Shit, dude, that’s some heavy-duty stuff,” sez Bobby.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think we’re getting somewhere with this. I think this is leading us somewhere.”
“Where’s it going?” sez Bobby curiously.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I think it might have something to do with this vision question, or I mean, quest that we’re on.”
“Okay, okay,” sez Bobby, looking kind of excited, but also really stoned cuz his eyes are all red.
“I think, I think,” I say. “I think that on nine eleven, the world, it got broke apart.”
“Yeah, yeah,” sez Bobby to show that he’s following. He looks excited, but also really stoned cuz his eyes are all red.
“I think with, what with nine eleven, it’s like the world got broke apart.”
“Yeah,” sez Bobby, and I can tell he’s following, even though he looks really stoned, with his eyes all red, the way they are.
“The world got broke apart,” I continue, “and nothing has been the same ever since. I think maybe on this vision question thingy that we’re on. Or I mean, vision quest. I think with this thing we’re on, we’re here to figure out how to put the world back together. We’re here to do the repair work. We’re putting things together.”
“That sounds really cool,” sez Bobby. “We’re gonna put things back together!”
“We can do it,” I say, and in this moment of stonedness, I really feel like this is the truth of it. That we really can put the world back together again. Like humpty dumpty.
But now that I’m thinking of that old nursery rhyme, I’m getting this aversive feeling coming to me. I’m not really in favor of old nursery rhymes. It’s like they don’t belong to me. They’re not mine. They’re just these darned things that’re imposed upon me. I’m glad I noticed that, because I don’t think I’m gonna tell Bobby about Humpty Dumpty. It sounds stupid.
|Thursday, November 19th, 2015|
|More Thoughts on Refugees
No, I just wanted to say...it's all so very odd. Maybe it's not so odd.
The Paris attacks made me feel even more unified with the refugees from Syria than I was before. Because they're suffering very-first-hand at the hands of the horrible people who are creating all this awfulness. It's the same horrible people that terrorized Paris.
It made me feel like, hey, let's stand in unity with the refugees and let a bunch of them in. Y'know? Again, I wish I could put the emotions I'm feeling into words. I just feel so sad that they're suffering so much. It makes me unhappy that people in congress and governors and shit want to keep them out. Why? Cuz they have the same color skin as the isis-assholes. What the fuck, man? Who cares what their skin color is? I don't get it.
It makes me sad. I hope President Obama wins and we're able to let them in. Like people're saying: here we have the holidays coming up and here's a bunch of Middle Eastern people looking for lodging. Sounds a bit like Jesus' parents, doesn't it?
|Excerpt From Feathers In Heaven
We’re back in the apartment, er, no, I mean hotel. Nope, I don’t mean hotel neither. I mean motel. Mottttelllll. I’ve had a wee bit too much of the drop to drink and now I’m feeling all drunk and dizzy and silly. Or is it me that is the silliness or am I just simply a witness to the silliness?
It is. Nope.
Crap, I’m having trouble forming thoughts, you know. You know. Timmy. No, that’s me! Ha ha ha ha ha. Bobby, he’s my best friend. He’s dancing and a-dancing to the music of the listener player over there. The word – I forgot. The listener player. The handshake.
“What’s that, Timmothy?”
“Ha ha ha ha ha.” It’s funny to hear my big name. The name of fullness. Whatever it’s called. What’s it called? It’s called my “given name.” My giving name.
Oh, wait, I’m supposed to respond.
I don’t know what’s affecting me more – the booze or the weed? Before smoking the booze, the weed wasn’t there. And then. No. Fuck. My thoughts aren’t straight. Before drinking the weed. No. Not that, either.
No, before smoking the weed, I felt pretty gosh-darn wasted, but I think My Thoughts were clear, but there was a line of separation. It was like dizziness. But my thoughts were all connected and in order. Now that I’ve had just a teeeeeny tiny bit of weed. Just a little teeny tiny dollop of smack-dabber weed, I’m all lost and confused.
There’s a way in which I can see EVERYTHING more clearly, and I can put all the ten thousand things into perspective. But there’s another way in which I keep on getting lost in my thoughts. Damn. Shit. Fuck. Fart. I forgot what I was gonna ask Bobby.
What was I gonna ask Bobby? He’s standing there looking expectant, but I think he might be starting to forget that we were in the middle of a conversation. I almost forgot, as well.
“I was gonna ask you, Robert.” Ha ha ha, now I’ used his given name. “I was gonna ask you something.”
“What it was?” says Bobby. “Or, no, I mean, what was it?”
“I was gonna ask you something, and I think it might have been important. But my mind is such a scary sad mess these days, that I’m not remembering too much of what I was supposed to remember.”
“Oh, I think I might see what you mean, but I might have to think about it for a little while, too.”
I hope Bobby doesn’t think I’m stupid for forgetting what I was supposed to ask him.
“WAIT!!!” I say a little too loudly. Oh, hell and shit. What if they call the police? I can’t be that loud and bothering in a public place like this. “Wait,” I say a little more quietly, as if that’ll make up for the loud “wait” from a second ago.
“Yeah?” sez Bobby. His eyes are red. He changed into a white t-shirt and mid-thigh length grey shorts.
“I remember what it is or was I wanted to ask you,” I say.
“What was it?” sez Bobby. “Or is it?”
“I was gonna ask you what that music-playing thingamagigger is over there that you’re listening to. The music thingy.”
“Oh, that’s a good question,” sez Bobby. “I’m glad you asked,” he says in a more formal tone.
But then we both start laughing and laughing our heads off. I think it sounds really funny that he talked in that formal tone just now.
|Wednesday, November 18th, 2015|
|The Horribleness that Happened in Paris Last Friday
Oh, my. It's weird, what's come up in the aftermath of the horrible thing that happened in Paris last Friday.
I cried a lot. I felt horror and shock and awfulness. I think a lot of people did.
Then I started hearing from people that said that we shouldn't be feeling so bad about the Paris attacks because bad stuff like that has been happening in the Middle East for a long time. And it's funny (but not in a ha ha way), because I'd been thinking about the very same thing, the day after it happened, while I was driving my car. I'd thought, like, wow, this is the same as all the bad shit that's happening in Syria, and Beirut, and all that.
And people're saying that feeling worse about what happened in Paris is racist and stuff.
On one level, I get what they're saying. Why is suffering in one part of the world any worse than suffering in another part of the world? Intellectually, I get what they're saying.
But here's my response (and I'm not posting it on Facebook, because it might be too incendiary. The nice thing about having a blog that hardly any people read is that I can post whatever I want and not care about very many people seeing it).
My response is, first of all, these are my feelings. I'm sorry that my feelings are politically incorrect - but, any time someone has a feeling and they ask me "what'm I supposed to feel?" I say, "what you're feeling." What I feel is horror. I feel awful and terrible. I cried. Don't tell me how I'm supposed to feel. That's what I feel. End of story.
Second of all, these attacks really have changed our reality in a very real way. There used to be this feeling of safety, y'know? Maybe it was illusory, but before this week, I felt like, oh, Paris, what a neat place. It has great food. And culture, too. And it's France. There was a certain measure of security, knowing that you were in a place like France, or Britain, or the United States. Now, I admit this feeling of safety might've been illusory, given that there're tons of shootings going on here and there've been bombings on and off, too. But there was this feeling of safety, nonetheless. And now it's gone. The horribleness and chaos in the Middle East is spreading out. Now there's nowhere to go that feels safe. Maybe it's stupid to feel and think that way, but nevertheless, there it is.
Third of all, I don't think it's unreasonable to be upset about an ally being attacked. Like President Obama said, they're our oldest ally. It sucks that our ally was attacked.
I dunno, man. There's just something upsetting about a place that's similar to where we live being attacked like that. It's just plain upsetting. It's rocked my world and a lot of other people's worlds. Maybe it's politically incorrect, but I don't give a shit - that's how I feel.
And on to the refugees. It's funny because I'm having the exact opposite response of what those Republican governors are having. When I saw Paris being blown apart by those isis fuck-heads, I thought to myself, shit, dude. That's what's happening to those poor people in the Middle East. I feel like now that this shit's going on in the Western world, I feel a certain measure of unity with the refugees. I mean, I've felt bad for them all along, but now there's an extra feeling there. Why wouldn't we take in people who are suffering at the hands of the very terrorists that are threatening us? Why the fuck wouldn't we?
Sure, some people're saying that terrorists might disguise themselves as refugees and all that. But I have a couple responses to that argument. I don't think these terrorists have been having much of a problem getting around. They don't need to do that. They're already going places and blowing people up. If the concern about them sneaking in with the refugees is valid at all (and I dunno if it is or not), then we can go ahead and vet the refugees. Just be real careful about looking into people's backgrounds. Stuff like that. Besides, a lot of those assholes that terrorized Paris were European citizens. So I don't think it's really a valid argument that letting in Syrian refugees means we're letting in terrorists.
Damn. I wish I could convey my feelings better on this point. It's weird. I just feel like, hey, dude. Let's stand in solidairity with the refugees. Their enemy is the same as our enemy. Why would we be mean to people who are suffering at the hands of the very same people we hate? Doesn't make sense, man. No, none at all.
|Friday, November 13th, 2015|
|Wednesday, October 21st, 2015|
It's odd. I got all cranky, I guess you could say. I keep on wondering why New Agers have all this certainty about the world suddently being on the verge of turning into a better place. I keep on wondering why they all tend to see humanity as being on the brink of a giant awakening in consciousness. Dude, I don't see it. I just plain don't. It seems like things are getting worse and worse, and we're poised on the brink of our own destruction.
It's odd. I'm still struggling with the question of whether or not I'm a pretentious asshole. I'm still not sure. I was drawn to Native American spirituality from the time I was a wee little infant. One of my first memories is of being pre-verbal and wanting to make me a nice li'l totem pole. I kid you not. I don't think I was a pretentious asshole when I was a baby. As such, you'd think, okay, I came by all this naturally, for whatever reason. I don't know the reason, quite honestly, given that I don't think I have any Native American ancestry whatsoever. None, dude, none. But, in any event, even though I was a non-pretentious baby when I developed this interest, I still have serious concerns that I might be a pretentious fuck. I dunno what to think of that.
See, I see postings on various social media by Native American people who are pissed off at white people appropriating their culture and traditions. And I cain't blame 'em for being pissed off. I mean, the descendents of the very same people that decimated their population and kept them all oppressed (and continue to do so) for a very long time are all now being all fake-Native American and think it's cool. It's so fucking obnoxious that it makes me want to barf.
I don't wanna be one of those pretentious culture-appropriating poopheads. There was a picture of a bunch of white people dressed as Indians on Facebook and it looked really dumb. Shit, dude? Am I one of those pretentious ones? Am I? Am I????????
Anyway - back to the topic I began with. In the course of my explorations in Native American spirituatlity, I came across lots of people who are all into New Age spirituality. And I'm all, huh? Why are Native American wannabes into New Age stuff?
But then, I realized those people are that way cuz they think of Black Elk's vision as coming true and all that. Even though, from what I've read (and I need to read some more to know the real deal), he seemed very disappointed at the end of his life that his vision did not come true. It's odd that all these New Age folks would be deriving such an optimistic view of the future from a man who was very disappointed that this view did not come true.
But anyway.... So I'm all, okay, now I know why new age stuff is all conflated with Native American stuff.
That said, I don't really believe in it. I tried to for a while. I tried to think that this world is about to get better, because if it doesn't, me and a whole bunch of other people are totally fucked. But I just cain't buy into it, dude. I see no evidence, whatsoever, of some stupid Great Awakening or whatever you want to call it. I just fucking don't dude.
Existential Therapists talk about this one defense mechanism people have, where they think some wonderful cosmic force is gonna rescue them. It's a way of defending against the despair and horrible loneliness we tend to face, when we realize just how meaningless and empty life actually is. If we have this fantasy of a Great Rescuer, then we can be okay with our horrible, meaningless existences and go on all optimistic and all that.
That's what I think this New Age stuff is. It's just a big, giant defense mechanism that gives people hope in the face of a horribly fucked up world.
And whattabout Black Elk and his vision, you might ask? Am I knocking it? No, not really, or not really in my view. In my view, I see it as follows. When Black Elk had his vision, all that stuff really WAS gonna come true. It really was! But you know how the time-space continuum is. Things that're gonna happen sometimes don't because some event comes along that alters the timeline. Right?
See, when he had his vision, if you looked at things probabilistically, the highest probability was that good thing's'd happen. There'd be a blossoming tree and all that good stuff. That was the direction humanity was headed in. But then some stupid thing happened that made it not happen. It might've been a person steppping on a lizard. Or a butterfly flapping its wings too enthusiastically or something. It was gonna come true, but then it didn't. The timeline-train jumped its tracks over onto other set of tracks. And these tracks were headed toward a horrible future, rather than a shining, happy one.
And, when that happened, all the dreams of New Age people came to a crashing halt. The only thing is, they didn't realize it. They still think it's gonna happen. It's not.
|Friday, September 25th, 2015|
|I'm At The Toyota Place
I'm at the Toyota place, waiting for them to finish my oil change. Dear lord. I feel all jittery and nervous. I felt that way on the way here, too. I don't know if it's cuz of something about being here, or if it's just cuz it's plain old Monday. I always get anxious at the beginnings of the weeks, y'know. I'm kind of tired of being anxious all the time. It sucks, dude.
My last entry was May something-th. I wish I wrote in this here blog more. It's odd because when I first started this blog, I had some people that'd follow it. I don't know if anybody e
|Friday, May 15th, 2015|
|Literary Poop Criticism Poop
I wanted to write something here up top because I realize how depressing that last entry was. Here's a less depressing entry.
Um, hmmm. What do I say? I could write about the new book I'm writing, but - as I said in an earlier entry - writing about writing is boring. It's really weird that there's actually an entire field of academia devoted to writing about writing. Y'know - literary criticism and all that. I think the boringest thing in the world is literary criticism. Y'know, boring old prose writing, where the writers are commenting on other people's writing.
Now, I've just offended the entire literary criticism community. Maybe lit crit wouldn't be so bad if it was more well-written. I mean, maybe it'd be less boring if it was easier to read - but it's really hard writing to read, so I get bored right away. Sometimes, I think people write all this convoluted shit (y'know, all that post-modern stuff) so they can sound smart. Because if they wrote clearer prose, people would actually know what their writing was about. If people knew what their writing was about, they could actually question the concepts being talked about.
But the way that kind of stuff is written, people probably think, "Oh I don't understand - this must be about big, complicated, important stuff, cuz it's so complicated and hard to read." In reality, it's possible that the concepts they're writing about are really simplistic. But we'll never know, because the writing is too effed up for anyone to ever ever ever ever know what it's truly about.
|Tuesday, May 12th, 2015|
Now I feel all dumb because that last entry was not well-written, but I'm too lazy to go back and change it. All I want to do is take a nap right now. That's all I want to do. That's all I want to do at all these days is sleep and sleep and sleep some more. It makes me wonder if I should go see a doctor about it, but part of me doesn't care. Nope, no. It's annoying but part of me doesn't care. Maybe it's depression because depression can make you tired and not care.
The depression piece does sort of make sense. And I can see why I'd be depressed right now. And I am tryin' to make some changes in the spheres where if things changed, maybe my mood would improve. But I think sometimes you get to the point where you just don't give a fuck about anything anymore. Wanting your life to be a certain way and having it not be that way totally fucking sucks. Having your life not look the way you wanted it to and not giving a fuck is a much better option. I think I'll stick with that option.
The I-don't-give-a-fuck option makes everything all tired and murky-brown, but it's a murky brown you can live with because it's everywhere. You're not wishing it could be pink anymore because you know that option is no longer available to you. So you just learn to sit in tired and murky brown and get used to the idea of it. Get used to the fact that things're not gonna get better because wanting them to be better never ever ever ever once did me even a teeny tiny little bit of good.
No, I'll sit in murky brown and just try to look at the stillness of it. And it doesn't matter, anyway, because even people with Barbie Doll Dream Houses of Desire lives are gonna end up in the same place as me ultimately. Dead. We're all gonna die.
Dang, I never did finish my thoughts on the whole sweat lodge issue because I had to get back to work. I think what it all comes down to is: am I a bad-guy? Am I one of the bad guys in this situation? Dang, man.
It's still so very hard because I can still see it as being tacky, white people doing Native American spiritual practices and such. I can see how people would see it as tacky, y'know. Here, us white folks didn't do all the suffering that Native American folks did at the hands of white people, no less. And then we get to go and benefit from all their traditions, when it's our very own ancestors that made them do suffering and took away their traditions and all that.
I dunno, man. I should be working on paperwork right now. I haven't thought about the sweat lodge thing in a while, even though I'm planning on going to one this Saturday. The person running it is actually half Native American, it sounds like. And part Celtic, too.
Is it a bad thing I'm doing? Dunno, man. Ed McGaa, a Native American guy, he says that it's good for white people to do Native American spiritual practices, cuz - I forgot exactly why, but it was good.
I guess not everybody has the same opinion on the topic, or all that. It's just ironic and weird that this affinity I have for Native American spiritual traditions (and I have no idea where this affinity comes from) is something that might make me look bad in the eyes of at least some Native American people.
And who knows? Maybe I am tacky. It's strange to think, but I'm not always the good guy. I can be the bad guy because not everybody is good all the time. I didn't want to be bad in this instance cuz it makes me feel dumb. No, I didn't want to be bad.
|Thursday, April 23rd, 2015|
Now I'm all confused. The sweat lodge I used to go to, it recently got alot of flak from people in the Native American community, who were pissed and said white people shouldn't do sweat lodges (even though the person who runs it is actually part Native American - oh well).
I'm all confused now. It's not a thing where I feel I can easily take any side because um, wait.
Like there're lots of people in the Native American community (which is kind of a dumb word, becase it's not just one community. IT's a bunch of different indigenous cultures, but whatever) that say other people shouldn't do sweat lodge ceremonies cuz it's cultural appropriation or something like that.
Like, they say it's stealin' from them, I think, or something like that. Like it's taking a sacred tradition and doin' something unsacred to it.
Well, I don't know all the arguments, but one compelling one was, if you're not a Catholic priest, you can't just hold a Catholic mass in your garage and hand out saltines and Kool-aid and call it a Catholic mass with a communion. It would be something entirely different from a Catholic mass. It'd be a guy in a garage with saltines and kool-aid. And this person said same goes for sweat lodges. If you have a tent in your back yard, and go through all the motions, can you really call it a Sweat Lodge, if you're not one of the people who originated the practice? I don't know. That actually is a really compelling argument, actually.
I dunno. I mean, I know I've benefitted greatly from the lodges I've gone to, and I really feel a lot of resonance with the ceremony. Like it's a good fit for me, y'know? The person who does
em, white as she is, actually was trained by Native Americans on how to do it - Lakota Sioux, I think. So the ceremony, itself, did stick pretty close to how it's s'posed to be, although she changed it up a bit, as well.
I dunno. She got this angry response from AIM, I think it was, but she met with a guy from AIM, and they worked out a solution; I'm glad, cuz I'd be sad if she didn't get to do that cereemony anymore.
Now it's called a Spiritual Sauna.
I felt sad that it can't be called a sweat lodge anymore, and yet, I can understand (well, not directly because I haven't experience it directly) how a people can be trampled on and treated like shit for years. How our country tried to eradicate all their cultural traditions and all that. And then all these tacky new age white people come along and start doing their traditions. It seems like a painful irony and all that.
And I'm torn because I love the sweat lodges I've been to and I don't feel like they did anyone any harm. I mean, like, the person who runs them is really safe about making sure nothing bad happens - not like that one in AZ where people died.
Yup, I'm torn. I'm so torn. To be someone who benefitted greatly from a ceremony, the very act of which some people deem as an act of violence to a culture that's been mistreated (or I should say a bunch of indigenous cultures).
|Wednesday, April 1st, 2015|
Um, like, when am I gonna stop having bad weeks? It seems to be an ongoing phenomenon. Maybe it's a dumb karma thing, in which case I must be burning off lots of poopy-bad karma from past lives and shit. Shitfuckpoopfartspoops.
Damn, I wish I had something interesting and fun to write about. I started revising Volume 2 a few weeks ago. That's not to say that I didn't spend about a year-and-a-half revising the fucker. But this is the new round of revisions.
It was odd. This past weekend, I revised this one page, and it sang to me. It was probably some of the best work I'd done in my whole life. That might be an exaggeration, but it's not much of one. I was trying to re-draw the sucky drawlings and it was all looking like shit. Then I realized I was trying to do the drawerings the way I'd wanted them to look back in 2011, instead of drawling what my 2015 self would draw. Then I tried doing the latter and it rocked, man. It totally rocked.
Fuckity fuck. I'm waiting for the boom to get lowered on the recent mistake I made. Or I'm not sure if I used the right expression there. The something. The repercussions and whatnot. I might get yelled at, even. I didn't mean to make this mistake and now it's eating at me. Fuckity fuck.
I realized if I'm a shitty therapist, I'm gonna be a miser for the next few years and build up an Empire of Money, so I can move somewhere there's trees and do something else other than doing therapy. My dream job would be manufacturing cuz I wouldn't mind just putting parts of things together all day long, and then go home to do stuff I actually care about. Too bad there's no such things as jobs like that, and you either gotta be a professional, which I suck at, (seriously, I suck at all things professional, I'm discovering) or you gotta do some service type of job where mean customers yell at you and make you feel like shit.
This is a dumb time period to live in.
|Friday, March 27th, 2015|
Oh, dear, what, oh my.
A few months back, I realized I felt frumpy walking around in my running shoes, so I decided it was time to buy black sneakers to walk around in. I mean, nothing against my running shoes - they look great when I'm running. But I felt frumpy wearing them with jeans.
So I thought I'd get me some Chuck Taylor shoes. Converse All Stars. The reason for that was 1. they're such a standard shoe that they never go comnpletely out of style and 2. there's this movie where this hot guy wears 'em, and I wanted to wear the same shoes as the hot guy.
So I bought them. And I started wearing them. Then, in recent weeks, I started noticing tons and tons of teenage girls and girls probably in their 20's were wearing the very same shoes. I'm all, what??????????????
So now I feel all self-conscious in my sneakers because everybody's gonna think Old-Crone-Me is one of those ladies who tries to look all hip and young, wearin' the types of clothes young girls wear. You know the type. Hot pink spandex wearers, all that. I'm all, NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! That's not me! I never wanted to be young-girl-hip-and-trendy!!!! I just wanted the kind of shoes that hot guy wore in that movie.
Oh, well. I'm gonna wear them, anyway.
|Thursday, March 26th, 2015|
Now I'm eating a Snickers bar. It's 2 candy bars in one wrapper so you can save one for later. I'm not sure if I'll have the discipline to save one for later. I might eat them both at the same time. The only problem with eating chocolate at work is it's messy. Oh, dude. I cain't believe I started my own business. I never wanted to be a business man. Or woman, for that matter. Ne'er. And yet, here I am. A business man (or woman).
That's some fucked up shit, dude, because even though here I am, a newly minted businessman/woman, I still don't wanna be abusinessmanwoman. I just want to do psychology poop. All I wanted to do was psychology poop. But in order to do psychology poop, sometimes you have to go into business. I dunno. Maybe I'll find a job for my Wednesdays, cuz that's the one day of the week my office space ain't available to me.
There's so much to this businesspoopyshit that I think I'll get an accountant (which I should do anyway) to make sure I don't do some illegal shit like accidentally embezzle from myself. That would be bad. I'm really afraid of embezzling from myself accidentally and having to go to jail cuz the IRS can bust you for that kind of shit. Yeah, I really hope I don't embezzle from myself and end up having to go to jail cuz that would be really bad.
|Friday, January 23rd, 2015|
|Thursday, January 8th, 2015|
|Sunday, December 21st, 2014|
|Tuesday, December 16th, 2014|
|Down Time Poopy-Poopy-Ones
I have some down-poopy-time-poopy-poopy-ones, so I thought I'd post a blog post in order to fill the time. I also thought to myself it would be a good idea to take advantage of this down time in order to post something that wasn't something I had a beef about.
I guess yesterday's post didn't have any beef in it, either, so that's a good thing. And the post before that was about The Sketchmobile, and I don't mind the presence of The Sketchmobile in my life at all. Not at all.
It's raining, and this state needs the rain, that's for sure. Although I feel bad for all the people whose houses got messed up in the mudslides and all that.
Crappity crap, I feel like I cain't think of anything to write about. There's one good thing that happened, but I feel like if I put it into words, I might jinx it, and I don't want it to go away. My head feels tired.
Poop, no I cain't think of anything to write about. I feel all jammed up and all blocked up, too. What should I write about? A really horrible thing happened in Pakistan in the news today. It made me really sad or horrified or something. I was alerted to it because a friend posted something about it on Facebook today. You always know what really major major events have happened in the world if something got posted on Facebook. If people're only posting pictures of puppies and stuff like that, there might not be anything major happening in the world.
But it's fucking crazy. I don't really know what's happening to the world and all its people. it feels like the world has gone absofuckinglutely nuts. What's going on? What's going on, man?
And then like I lookit the really-bad story in Google News, and I feel all horrible for humanity. And then I go back to facebook and friends are posting all this nice stuff about wisdom, and then a teeny tiny ray of hope shines through again. It makes me almost want to cry, because it helps to be able to see that there're all these really good people in the world that wanna make it better, y'know. They're people who're not perfect or anything like that; like me, they're just doin' the best they can. That's a good thing. It's a contrast, I guess you could call it.
I dunno, man. I dunno, dude. I dunno what to think about anything.
I used to draw mean comic strips, but now I don't do that anymore. I think a while back, i decided it wasn't a good idea to do mean comic strips, although I know back when I did 'em, it was just to process mean stuff other people did to me. But these days, I don't wanna do that, y'know. There's something about it - I can't quite put my finger on it. I think it hearkens back to that one blog entry I wrote years ago, where every little mean thing you do contains every other mean thing ever done in it. It makes you think a lot.