Constant Reminders

 

Ever just wish you had amnesia? Ever wish you could just forget everything? And I'm talking Soap Opera Amnesia here. It doesn't hurt, If you can't remember, right? Strangely I doubt that. Even if the mind could forget, I would have my doubts about the heart. The heart never forgets, my friends. And somehow if I had my memory totally erased, I think that at least hurting and knowing why, instead of feeling such a profound loss without at least remembering just what (And who) I have lost. Would be a much slower train to Nutsville for me. Granted, granted, I've come a long way anyway. I think I've merely passed the Eccentropolis town limits sign just now. It seems to be populated with Mad Hatters and March Hares, but no clowns, thank the maker...

 Perception, validation. These are some heavy words to throw around. It's one of those catch 22's where one can feel like a fool either way they choose, whether they resign to the fates and the gods, or if they opt to actually pursue their own truth. Nothing hurts quite like the impossibility of being true to yourself. So, what do you do? Do you give up forever surrendering to the hand dealt you, or do you keep trying in your own way? Perception, validation... Tough words for a lonely life. Probably lonely words for a tough life, too. Just a thought. Nothing heavier than my usual thoughts. Actually, it fits like a freaking glove. I've been living in my head a lot of late. It seems I've been tending to reality barely enough to get through the day. It's a shame that these days, the thing I look forward to the most upon waking is returning to sleep's loving embrace. My aim should be "Seize the day, like a pirate ship seizing that yonder galleon full of gold doubloons, Yarrrrr!"

But, Me heart, me hearties, just ain't in it, anymore. I be gettin' tired of this voyage, me lads and lasses. There's been no fun on the high seas, no treasure to seek. There be no adventure anymore. And me gallant swashbuckling crew has not located the fountain of youth, nor the gateway to the magical land of lost and found, for both treasure and people!  (And it be true, Mateys, that some people be the greatest treasure, Yaaaaar!) We try, me hearties, but despite our cool beards, cutlasses, eye patches, and the Jolly Roger proudly flyin', we have located narry a one. (Think of me what you will, but who else at least complains in Pirate Speak?)

I find myself back in this strange autopilot mode. It always seems that's when people around me try to be extra demanding, actually expect me to think on my feet. Not today, folks, not today. We'll all be a lot better off if you just leave me to my work. This is no time for a BS special occasion. I am guaranteed to disappoint. I'd just prefer to get through this day in robot mode. I'll get a lot done if they'd just let me. Talking is out of the question, too. Conversation takes just a bit more than I have today. Just think of me as a robot that does work and stuff. Beep! Beep!  Leave me alone. See? Robot. These humanoid nerves are not well constructed. They frazzle easily. Robot, robot, beep beep beep! Must have caffeine. I just wasn't ready for today.. Looks like my heart decided to take a vacation because it just ain't with this day at all. Maybe I'll go looking for it when I leave here later today. I happen to know where it spends a lot of its time, where it lives, actually. 

 

A picture of my baby sister next to a 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 surfaced in my 'memories' on a certain social media site that I've mostly been avoiding of late. However, when it comes to my sister, all bets are off. Just as Sarek Of Vulcan once said that logic fails him as far as his son is concerned, so does logic and the best made plans of mice and men fail me when it involves my baby sister. I had to respond, share, Yadda yadda Yoda... 1981 was a year that the DeLorean DMC-12 and my baby sister have in common. Anyway, I wrote that Marsha is one major reason I wish the DeLorean time machine was real. I may destroy the very fabric of time and space, but at this juncture, I don't give a damn. If I can't save the universe, I'd save the universe anyway. Why? Because she is the universe. And just like the universe, it's complicated, yet quite simple. So, with that said, when this baby hits 88 miles per hour, you're gonna see some serious shit. So, circuits warmed up, engine running, Mr. Fusion Engaged. Set time circuits to 2021. 

"No time to explain, Sis. Get in the DeLorean." 

"Do I look older since you last saw me?". "Yes, I probably do."

 "Oh, never mind that now." 

"I'm okay, I am now, that is."  

"Nothing's wrong. Not anymore." 

"Tears? Where we're going, we don't need tears." 

For Just Five Minutes

  Ever have a case of the "Just Five Minutes"? As in, I'm going to close my eyes for just five minutes? If you have, then you know that it's never five minutes. You're looking at a minimum of twenty. This morning? Forty-five. I still made it to work. It was like Wile E Coyote on rocket powered roller skates, except for thankfully skipping the spectacular fireworks display at the end. I may look like hell, but I made it to work on time. Thank goodness I already packed my lunch and that I have a brush in my 'work bag' to fix this hair of mine. A minute or so, and I'll be looking like a million dollars. I only wish I had a million dollars. My luck, as I may or may not have said, is that if I ever found a suitcase full of money, I'd trip over it and break my poor leg. The money itself would be counterfeit and mob connected, and Big Tony would have seen it all from the shadows. That would be my luck, alright. And that's why, kiddos, you'll never see me in Las Vegas or Atlantic City. I like to avoid offers I can't refuse. Now, of course, if this means moving to a tropical island and taking on a whole new identity (and I mean completely new), then sign me up, baby! Bring on those aquamarine dreams, lawn chairs, umbrella drinkys, the sound of the surf, and the warm tropical sun. I even have my alias picked out. Of course, I'd just settle for that million dollars. Not that I'm greedy. Hey, a mere measly few hundred thousand would do nicely. A billion dollars and a private jet would be nice too. Hell, gimmie fifty bucks and a paper airplane. Otherwise, here I am back in reality after a commute approaching terminal velocity. I think the only reason I made it without being late was a bit of time dilation. Okay... I'm joking. I wonder if Albert E would find my little quip funny. Or would he chase me out of the university brandishing a slide rule? Zat's not vunny! Get out! There are indeed questions science can't answer. Ah, but anyway, here I am, ladies and gentlemen. And what a show it's gonna be today. Let's get ready to rock steady. I do have this feeling it's going to be a particularly long day. Those nights are too short, and the days are too long. I am ready freddy to call it a day. This is definitely not prime time, b-b-buddy!

I always tell my kids not to borrow trouble, but I don't always follow my own good advice. Just like Alice, I give myself very good advice, but I seldom ever follow it. Though that has never resulted in Red Queens, Mad Hatters, or rude flowers. If I were her, I'd be back with a lawnmower. Hey, maybe I could write a sequel: Alice II: Payback Time. Our Heroine is back, and this time, she's Alice Johnson from Freddy 4 with martial art kicks flying and numb-chucks blazing. Easy on the eyes, but brutal to the face. This time, it's the flowers who are gonna learn a lot of things, and that 52 pick-up monarchy is gonna have a new queen. Alice II: Coming soon to a theater near you. These could be the mad dreams of a very stoned caterpillar, but I don't think so. He was way too uptight to be a stoner. Stoners are mellow, or so I hear.

Okay, where was I before I went waaay off course? Silly dodo, that's no way to get dry! Oh yeah. I often borrow trouble when I know I shouldn't. You can only deal with what is known. Anticipation is distraction until the possible becomes actual. A certain Jedi said this, so It must be true. Of course, I would make for a lousy Jedi. Just like Aniken Skywalker, I worry about the future and wear my heart on my sleeve. I do so even a thousand times after telling myself not to. The only difference is I want more, and I know I should. But that's a whole other rabbit hole and an even crazier wonderland. It's an Alice nobody has ever met. Not yet. Maybe that will be part III. No, you shouldn't borrow trouble. All it means is experiencing worst-case scenarios that never actually happen. It's best to only face the ones that actually do happen. This is what I tell my kids. Well, they're all technically grown, but you know what I mean. They might not be kids anymore, but they're still my kids, and they will always be. Momma always said so about my sisters and I. I'm sure my father feels the same way, And I have already alluded to my age somewhere in these ramblings. That's parenthood for ya. It never truly ends. I am a parent, but to some, I'll always be the kid. Dad will always be Dad. Momma will always be Momma, wherever she may be in this multiverse. I just hope that my kids are less apt to borrow trouble than me. It really makes for a stressful, miserable life. That's not the kind of life I want for them, save for the one who's earned it, and only to motivate him to take some damned responsibility. But that's once again a different story that I just don't feel like talking about right now. Besides, that's a good portion of my borrowed troubles. I just want to drop the stress and think about the fun stuff like all that fan fiction I love to read. Stuff like that. It is so easy to let life become so gloomy and dark. Especially after the stress of 2021 that happened even before losing Marsha, losing Momma in 2022. It is so easy to fall into bleak despair and hopelessness. It is one hell of a fight to stay above it. I'm trying, Momma. I really am. Some days, I succeed. Some days, I fail. I look at how my old house is falling apart, and I just feel like crying. I work a full-time job, but I still can't muster the money, the time, the energy, or the knowledge to do anything about it. I have to think of my happy distractions. I have to focus on the trees and not the whole damn forest. I'll go down in madness and depression if I don't. This is the only way I can face up to the things I actually can do something about. I have to be silly sometimes. I have to have my little dream world. I have to have my wonderland. I have to be my true self in whatever way I can. That way, I can keep going. I can keep my job and pay the bills. A little 'silliness' is a serious necessity when it comes to me. I must have my dream. I must have my little world. It helps me keep my balance on this crazy tightrope walk. There is no net, only madness below. I mustn't fall. They're all by my side, but I'm all alone.

You know? One would think that those extra 45 minutes of sleep, I would be all chipper, singing and dancing the day away. But I feel like a zombie. So, no Disney movie for me today. Let's make it a zombie movie instead. Yadda Yadda Yoda and Brrrrraaaaainz! I'm just one tired zombie who only wants to return to my grave, aka my bed. I feel like I could sleep for days. I can't understand why I am so tired. After all that sleep, there should be no reason. When I was a little kid, there was this TV show called Mutual Of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. They were always shooting these tranquilizer darts at those lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Now I feel like I've been hit with one of those darts. Alright, Mr Perkins, watch where you put those wildlife tags, or I'm gonna maul ya. Grrr! Put em up! Put em up! I'll fichya both togedda if ya want! I feel I could fold up my jacket, make a nice pillow, lay on the concrete floor, and be out like a light in five minutes or less. But, break is about over, and I kinda need to get back to work. Finding me snoring on the floor would be something I'd assume the boss might frown upon. I just can't understand why I feel so exhausted. If anything, I should be bright-eyed and bushy tailed, as Momma used to say. But, I am sleepy bo peepy. Or zombie mo mombie with not a shopping mall or a library in sight. That's where I would have gone if I were a zombie in one of those old movies. Nerds hang out at libraries, and nerds have brains. Malls just had the ditzy valley girls. Like I'd like totally like prefer the mall as a human, but as a zombie, I'm totally headed to the library. Hey, did you just throw a book at me? That was sooooo like totally rude!


I am so looking forward to some sleep. I look forward to sleep the way I looked forward to other things decades ago. That party on Saturday night, that first date, that 21st birthday, my future awesome adulthood... Which now is my present day looking forward to passing out in my bed. Ever just ask yourself what the hell happened? I guess life happened, and I somehow wound up here. It must have been one hell of a party. That or one hell of a nightmare. Seems I find myself at a here and now for which I don't know how I even got here in the first place. Years have passed like a dream long forgotten. It's weird, man, totally bizarre. Like the Grateful Dead sang, it's been a long strange trip. The farther I travel, the stranger this trip seems to get. Instead of it being sudden, like falling down the rabbit hole, the change has been subtle and gradual. It didn't all happen at once, but it seems I have only recently noticed it (all at once). I have to say it is quite a curious experience. If my life were a movie, it would have been narrated by Rod Serling, with a classic Disney soundtrack. Due to several life events that have changed my very core, I am kinda having to get reacquainted with myself. The soul is old. The body's middle-aged. The person is kinda new. Maybe my old self still surfaces now and then, but that old self is merely part of me, not all of me. Not by any measure. I was already in the midst of a major change in perception before everything happened. That was the high tide just before the tidal wave. A lot of things changed, and then everything changed. That's why it seemed to me that nothing I ever said before was relevant anymore. That was why I deleted all of those words. They were spoken by someone who was no longer me.  So, Hello there, Universe. I am this new being standing before you. 

I wonder if life should be kind of like this little text program I am using. You fill it with words. You fill it with your thoughts. You fill it with your feelings. Basically, you pour your whole heart out. Then, when it's done, you wipe it clean and start completely over. You write the words that you need to say, and then you wipe them away like in a Mr Clean commercial. I even imagine the little sparkles gleaming on an empty page. Of course, the words remain elsewhere. How could they be here if they didn't? But it is a good possibility that by the time you read them, I would have wiped this little app clean and started fresh again. Out of my head, On to the page, Off of the page, Into my journal, wash, rinse, and repeat. Still, the flow continues, just an endless river of my thoughts, and it seems I have so much more I wish I could actually say. There seems to be a bit of a bottleneck. It seems so of late, anyway. I am not sure I could puzzle out all the factors that have my hand flying over the page, spitting out words like an old school rapper, but that's been the month of March 2023 for me. Words and words and more words, as if I'd go all supernova if I didn't speak them all. It's like a star under pressure. The celestial variety rather than the Hollywood kind. Though both run the risk of nuclear breakdowns under pressure. Doo doo doo da doo duh. Alright, stop, collaborate, and listen. Wrong song, dude.  Another thing to remember is that sometimes there are just no words. A feeling is a million miles beyond a thought and light years beyond words. No matter how articulate we are. No matter how wonderful our language is. Emotion can be intense and everywhere, but impossible to define. And it's so damn frustrating. Between the lines is where you will find all the things I wish I could say.. Now, Subject change! You know the drill. 

I am sitting here listening to Van Halen's "Beautiful Girls," wondering why life can't be more like a 1980s beer commercial. If you are old enough to remember those, then you know what I mean. The second you pop the top, out come the hotties and thus the party begins. You see Spuds McKenzie and the beer wolf enjoying a cold one while watching an extremely bouncy and quite interesting volleyball game on the beach. Sadly, in my own experience, only beer comes out of the can when you pop the top. Oh, well. False advertising, man. Why am I talking about this? Well, that song is just the perfect iconic soundtrack to those old commercials. David Lee Roth would certainly fit well with that crowd, probably wearing shades and a loosely buttoned Hawaiian shirt, shouting, "Wooooooooo! Babes! Party Time!" Then someone throws him a beer that he proceeds to chug, then he crushes the can. Wooooooo! Maybe Ric Flair is there, too. In the beer commercial universe, it's party time all the time, and hangovers just do not exist. Neither do beer bellies for that matter. And the ladies are just crazy about a dude totally drunk out of his gourd, Woooooooo! Don't get me wrong, a nice cold beer or three sounds darned good right about now, but those commercials back then were waaaay over the top. Wooooo! I just imagined another guest at this party. Animal from The Muppets! "Animal Paaaaaaarty!" [chugs a beer] "Raaaawwwwaaaar!" I have always pictured Animal to be the reincarnation of Keith Moon, the original party animal. It makes sense, sort of. That's a party wild enough to probably involve the cops. Geesh! My subject changes are as mad as a hatter. Oh, well. Clean Cup move down. Or maybe not. This wall of text has gotten so big that they could use it at Shawshank. Guess I'll save that subject change, maybe for the next mad tea party, aka blog entry. A fresh start? So, how should I conclude this one, then? I know: 

I love you, Universe. You are all around me, with a permanent apartment in my heart, yet I still miss you so terribly.  

I will always love you even more than the stars. Tell those stars hello for me. I know I will see them someday.

Goodnight, Universe

Between Reality And Dreams And Other Things.

 So, Universe, how are things going? Anything new with spacetime? Or is everything plodding along as it has for about 13.7 billion years or so, save for me of course? A mere near half century isn't even a microsecond flash in the pan. So when I ask what's new, could it be me? If so, the universe is full of irony because I most certainly do not feel new. I feel old. That is the irony, friends, universes, and dimensions. I feel as old as time itself. Perhaps my father, who I am lucky enough to still have around, would find my irony ironic itself. I am almost one half. He is almost three quarters. Me, I doubt I'll make it that far. Do you know what especially makes me feel old? Winter mornings. They make me feel quite ancient. As you might can tell, I am not a fan of mornings. Actually, mornings suck, especially cold mornings. Double and ditto for cold mornings when I have to be at work and therefore can't stay under my warm, comfy, cozy covers. Moreover, after winter took a month long break before returning with a vengeance. Indeed, the seasons so far this year in my lovely part of the world are winter, fake spring, and we're now on Winter II. I spent more than a month not having to run the heat at all. Now, it's back. The weather here is as crazy as the people are perceived to be. As the Cheshire Cat once said, I'm not exactly all here myself. But oh well, clean cup move down. I did a lot of computer stuff over the weekend, saving my two favorite KS fan-fiction sites. I guess after better than a decade, people seem to have lost interest. What's worse is that some of these awesome stories have completely disappeared from the internet, even the archive. Luckily, I had saved a few of them some years ago. All this will be included in my digital stuff that I hope to preserve for a very long time, hopefully even long after I'm gone. It would tickle this old heart pink to know somebody in the far future will enjoy this stuff like I do. Either way, I guess I'll never know, myself. Hello, future people. How goes the interstellar journey? Do me a favor, please. Carry my sister's likeness unto the ends of the universe so that she will be remembered forever and ever. Do that, and I will love you, too, forever. 

Speaking of spacetime, I finally broke down and got me some reading glasses. I really need bifocals. For now, I'll settle for switching glasses for up close and far out. Getting older just plain sucks. I can't think of anything good to say about it. They say old folks are the ones who were lucky to live that long. Maybe they're right. I had visions of Marsha and I driving the rest of the nursing home crazy with our shenanigans. But I am the only one still here to get old. See? There's the downside beyond just our minds and bodies going downhill. Old people have had plenty of time to lose loved ones who meant the world to them. Getting old means outliving most everybody else, at least the ones you knew when you were young. And that plain sucks, pure and simple. A long life means a lot of loss. And that's just no good, my friends. I'm in what I call the outer stage of middle age. I can't say I'm looking forward to old age. What's there to look forward to other than illness and death? What good can there be in watching my hair turn white as snow, or my face shrivel up like a damn prune? This sure doesn't sound like fun. None of this has happened yet, but it will if I live long enough. I'll face unpleasant changes and not have my dear sister to commiserate with or to cry to about it. She, on the other hand, will never grow old. If I live a bunch more decades, becoming as ancient as Grandpa Simpson, and hers is the spirit that appears to guide me beyond, It will look like a grandfather being guided by his granddaughter. I am certainly your elder brother now, Sis. I'll be sure to yell for those kids to get off my lawn on my way out. "Ahhhh! It's the ghost of that mean old man!". "Boo, you little bastards!" The reason you respect your elders is that it's just a blink of an eye, and you're an elder too, probably with some little shit disrespecting you. Boo, Boo, Boo, It'll happen to you too! So, be nice to the old folks in your life. But I can't say which are the lucky ones. My worldview has kinda skewed into uncharted territory in these past few years. 

Speaking of worldviews and whatnot, despite having very strong feelings on a number of issues, there are several reasons I avoid talking politics here. First of all, I'm just your average human, trying to get through this life. There are people with far more knowledge and eloquence to speak along these lines. Secondly, those very same people are less qualified to talk about my life and my experiences (which is what this blog is all about). Therefore, I'll leave theirs with them and keep mine with me. This is all about who I am, what I am, what I think, what I feel, who I love, and who I miss. If I don't talk about these things, who will?And if you happen to see some duality, I assure you it's honest duality. I think a soul is a lot like a subatomic particle of quantum nature, existing simultaneously in contrary ways. I am what I am and what I could be. I guess that does sound crazy. Well, when did I ever promise normalcy or even sanity for that matter? You've gotta read the fine print. Even the robot devil said so. I guess what I mean of duality is that with some things, it seems I both want and do not want. What do I mean? Well, allow me to give a few examples. There are things I want to shout from the rooftops, yet do not wish to catch hell about. There are aspects of myself I want to express, but never dare. There are things I believe wholeheartedly, but know at the same time would cause me trouble if I were to express them. That is yet another duality. I feel as though I am an actor playing a role, the self the world expects me to be. For the astute, it is the opposite mirror image of how they cast roles in Shakespearean times. And one can get so damn sick of having to stay in character all the time. Duality, indeed. And here is yet another example of skating up to the very edge, yet never going over. Darmok, Their Eyes Closed. The other duality is this tug-of-war of wanting simultaneously to be known and unknown. If life were like a video game, I could have both realities in different save slots. I could simply step over the line just to see where I land, knowing I could go back if this all were a horrendous mistake. Consequences mean nothing in a universe where the gods are in reality, yourself. I fear no mortals, for I am the goddess of empathy. (I love that episode of TNG) Who could blame Barclay? Marina Sitris was absolutely beautiful. Ah, The Holodeck. It's probably a good thing it hasn't been invented. I suppose there would be both positives and negatives. One could recreate their loved ones, maybe recreate themselves for their loved ones. How wonderful would it be to be able to tell your children, brothers, sisters, anyone who lives in your heart that you love them, even after you're gone? One could also use it as a tool to build confidence. But the possible addictions would also be pretty bad. Still, it would have its value. There would be those who go there to pretend: to play a role and live out a dream. There would be those who would go there to escape a role and be themselves, a dream all its own. In the holodeck, you can be anybody you want to be. Best get your affairs in order because you challenge the greatest swordsman in all the holodeck! En Garde! 

Do you remember a song by The Art Of Noise called Paranormia featuring Max Headroom? Don't feel bad if you don't. This was from the mid-1980s when I got my first radio. Ah, memories of WPFM, the Great 108. Those were awesome times. Anyway, in this song, Max is going back and forth, wondering where he is, and yadda yadda Yoda, when he asks, "What am I doing?" He answers back, "Talk Talk Talking to myself." with an amused tone. Sometimes, I think this blog is a new level of talking to myself. This is made more true by the fact that it is not exactly searchable as of this date. It's still viewable to anyone who happens upon it, but it's not going to show up in a random Google search. Not yet. I plan on changing those settings someday, maybe after having a few years of putting my thoughts out there. I deleted and reset everything the day I lost my baby sister. That was the day my old self ended, and my current self began. I had to start all over. It has been one year and two months. That is too long to be without her, but not long enough to be putting all my thoughts here. I would rather have a couple of years, at least for context. One of my greatest fears is to be misunderstood. Although misunderstanding one another is quite commonplace with we humans. How often do we truly understand? And is it really anybody's fault? No, it's just our nature. Nonetheless, it sure feels lonely. Life is so long. Life is so short. There is too much time to think. There is never enough. The duality is not just in me. It's more common in this universe than even the stars. It is just as much part of the fabric of reality as is chaos. I guess it should be no surprise that being of this universe means inheriting some of its properties. We are not just in this universe. We do not simply occupy it. We are part of it. We are the universe. And so is she. Universe, Sister, it's all the same. I still miss you, Sis. Please visit me in a dream again sometime. I quite enjoyed watching Futurama with you. I can't see a single frame of that show without a thought for you. I miss you even more than Yancy misses Fry, even more than Fry misses his mother, even more than Seymour misses Fry. I know my three boys are all the kids I will ever have, still, still, if I ever had a daughter, Marsha would be her name. I also miss our mother terribly. I have your pictures on my wall so that your faces are the first I see in the mornings, and the last I see at night. So much has changed, even as I, too, have changed. But my love for you always was and will be. So long as I have breath. So long as I have a soul. I love you. 

I awoke in the middle of the night for no particular reason. I got up and threw on some clothes for no particular reason. I walked out into the cold night for no particular reason. I looked up at a single star for the longest time, and a reason began to coalesce within the deepest depths of my brain. I went back inside, crawled back into bed, closed my eyes to the after image, and the image became a dream. In reality, I saw a single star. In the depths of slumber, I saw a constellation, glittering stars connecting to form a face I knew well. It was then I knew there was no end, beautiful friend. Maybe we can someday shine together once again. 

And so I find myself here again, where I have so many times in this past year and two months. It all comes back to you. My thoughts and feelings are one big circle. They are as if you had thrown a boomerang. They always come back to you. Until we meet again, I will forever miss my sister.

Far From Perfect

 It's actually March 15th as I type these words, so Happy Caesar Salad Day! Pizza Pizza. E Tu Brute. E Pluribus Unum. Yadda Yadda Yoda. Hmmmm! Gibberish, this is! 

I've been going to a certain store most every day for better than 20 years now. I kinda made the owner mad this morning. I was already going to be barely making it to work, yet the dude was lollygagging with the customer in front of me. No big deal, but that damned card machine, the only one in this town I ever have problems with, started with its bullshit again this morning, so I kinda roughly swiped my card the second time, at which the owner shouted, "Hey! This machine cost $1800!" To which I replied, "Well, it should work better if it cost you that much!" I then grabbed my stuff and left. Was I the asshole? Probably, yes. But so what? I am an easy customer most of the time, and I was a steady customer, too. Since I quit the vapes, I have less reason to stop there anyway, and what's left can be obtained elsewhere. Not that it'll bankrupt him having one less loyal customer, but it's the principle of the matter. Now, the ghost of my mother's lectures that are embedded in my brain tells me that I was the one in the wrong and I should put myself in his shoes. Yes, Momma, you're right, of course. Still, he can go bite a butt. I can get ice at the grocery store. I can get my snacks either there or on Amazon. They say customers are assholes, and most dare not admit it to themselves. As for me, I admit to having been a petty grouchy jerk this morning. But that ain't going to stop me from going elsewhere for what I need from now on. Right? Wrong? I am the one who gets to decide where my money goes. At least when it comes to lunches and gasoline, anyway. I guess I really am getting old. Next, I'll be yelling for those whipper snappers to get off my lawn. If I were an employee, I'd be glad to get rid of an annoying customer. But he was the owner, so maybe losing the steady loyalty of a mostly polite (save for this morning) customer might mean something. Either way, I don't care. I've been paying some high prices just for the convenience of it being on my way home. However, a combination of already having bought it at the grocery store with buying online where I already pay for Prime anyway is even more convenient. Maybe a little more cost effective too. Like I said, 2023 is all about kicking some bad habits. In for a penny, in for a pound. I might as well make it count.  Okay. It's time to talk about less grouchy things. Maybe shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings? Of course, the carpenter was not pissed off because of the fate of those poor oysters. He was pissed because the walrus didn't share. He built that entire seafood place from driftwood in 5 seconds for nothing. Your darned tootin, he was pissed off. Okay, okay, okay. Maybe this lil clean cup move down ain't yielding the results I hoped for. The thing is, I've made plans to run by a couple of places and purchase everything I need for my lunch tomorrow. 

(The Next Day) My plan worked out pretty damned good if I say so. And, I definitely say so. First of all, Drinks. That store was charging 2 for 4 dollars for my 20-ounce soda. By saving my bottles and refilling them from 2 liter bottles from the grocery store, I am paying less than 2 dollars for 3 20-ounce drinks. Same name brand, but way cheaper. The pizza slices I was buying were just shy of 3 dollars. For less than 10 dollars, I purchased a pack of patties with some hamburger buns. This covers both breakfast and lunch for a full week. It looks like, along with having quit the dreadful vape, I stand to hold onto a good deal of my money. Since my job barely pays worth a damn, this is a definite good thing. Also, I had a bit more time this morning by skipping the store, and that's a reduction of stress. So far, it seems like a win-win. Meanwhile, I seem to be slowly getting back into my old hobbies. I've spent my evenings this week editing HTML files in order to have an offline copy of some of my favorite old fan fiction. The project I am working on particularly is one I abandoned about 5 years ago. What was it they said about works of art never being completed, only abandoned? I guess it goes for my own eccentric creations as well. Too bad there is nobody I know of on this random wavelength to share this with. As Zombie Duke Nukem Wannabe from "Isle Of The Dead" says, Bummer, Dude! There's you a DOS game to look up. Another character in that game looks like my ex-wife dressed as a soccer mom. No joke. My kids were the ones who pointed that out to me. jokingly saying, "Look, there's momma!" Ah, but I'm getting way off topic, aren't I? In her defense, my ex didn't look like a zombie. (At least not back then) She merely acted like one in certain situations. Ability and personality wise, imagine Zapp Brannigan but with the opposite gender. Except I don't remember Zapp ever successfully wooing Leela, neither do remember him dumping Leela to go live in the dumpster with Zoidberg. But, whatever, dude. A little side-note: If I were Phillip J. Fry, I wouldn't spend all that time chasing Leela. One mean rejection would have gotten rid of me. I would instead be going for the rich and beautiful Amy Wong. Out of my way, Kiff! Heck, I'd gladly move to Mars if I had to. But now it seems I have gotten so far off topic that I seem to be lost in space. One more side note, not only is Amy awesome at winning prizes in the claw game, notably the keys to the Planet Express ship, but she's cute as hell when she gets frustrated and starts cursing in Chinese. Beautiful, rich, brave, and great at video games. What more could you want, Fry? Dude, the girl of your dreams is right in front of you! You can't go wrong with Amy Wong. Okay. Where was I? Right. Lost in space. Actually, Futurama is a much better show with far cooler robots. I wish "All My Circuits" was a real soap opera. I wouldn't miss an episode. 

Did I ever say why I love Futurama so much, besides it just being a great show? It was Marsha that got me started watching the show. She used to record 6 hours at a time on VHS tapes and send them to me in the mail. She was always thinking of me in those little ways. She really cared for me, you know? I feel the same, and that's what has made this past year so difficult. Anyway, the show reminds me of my baby sister. Those episodes about Fry's brother, his mother, that time when Leela in her comatose dream kept dreaming about Fry being alive when he was dead. They hit so much harder than before. There have been several of my own dreams where Marsha was alive and well. The same is true for my mother. It sucks when the nightmare is not when you sleep, but begins only when you awake from the dream where your loved ones were okay, not dead, not gone from your life forever. Most people, no matter how grown and tough they think they are, need their mother sometimes. And what really bites is this is true even when our mothers are no longer here. And, As I have said a lot, Marsha and I were each other's crisis line, one half of the wonder twins. I would joke about being her stunt double in an action movie. Wonder Marsha crashes through a wall to save some trapped kid. For that brief moment busting through the wall, that would be me before the closeup cutting back to her. She's just a bit taller when smashing walls. We were close, she and I. And there have been way too many times I thought of calling her, only to realize she's no longer at the other end of that number. There are no words to express just how horrible this feels. I still miss my sister. 

The Circle Of Dreams And Distraction

 It's weird dream time again. 

 

In this one, I found my youngest son's truck lost on the woods. I decided I'd return it to him, so I drove over to my parent's house. My parents house became some restaurant (Kinda like Sonny's) My mother, father and my one living sister were there. I didn't have any food and to me that wasn't a big deal. I kept telling my mother I'd just get something later, but my mother was being a mother and kept insisting that I take some of the food from her plate. That's just like a mother to see to her kid's needs before her own. I was like, Momma, I'll be fine, I'm not going to starve. I'll pick something up on my way home. But she just kept on about it. "You need to eat, here take my plate."  My mother passed on March 25th of last year. Maybe she showed up in my dream to remind me to take care of myself. It did remind me of the many times throughout my life where she would just keep bugging me about something I should or shouldn't be doing with my life. There was something very familiar about the whole conversation. So, what does it mean? The truth be known, I have no clue and don't know jack. Dreams may be just unconscious imaginations, but My Grandmother was a believer in dreams being portents. I myself mainly believe that it's all in my head. But still. Such dreams give me pause anyway. The other weird thing about this dream is this: My sisters were very unique people, certainly different personalities. My dream kept trying to merge my living sister with the one I lost. I can't say I liked that, for the sake of the memory of one and for the sake of the future of the other. I found the merging very unsettling. Maybe it means that I should talk to her now, since Marsha is so much more than a phone call away. But, you see the dynamic is just not the same. It's nobody's fault, but it's just not the same. Maybe it's all in my head. I can't explain any further. Words just fail me, and they both deserve to be themselves. But, what really unnerves me the most are other possible meanings of this whole 'One and the same' thing. I can't say I like it. It was far from a nightmare, but this dream had an undercurrent that I didn't like at all. Even if it's just a dream, I'm going to make a note to self to tell the other to be the hell careful going out into the world.

 

Ever just wake up feeling a certain way and not exactly knowing why? Maybe it carries over from one's dreams. With me, it is a combination of not knowing why and knowing all too well. There is a serious problem with everyone in your life, thinking you're so strong. It is a compliment that can hurt beyond their realization. I do not exaggerate when I say that it takes everything I've got and a bit more just to hold down a job, pay the bills, and keep my little household in as much order as I can. I really feel like I'm walking a tightrope without a net. When it looks to everyone else, I'm simply walking across the room. These were the things I only told Marsha. She was the only one who could have possibly understood. I guess in addition to the obvious reasons I grieve losing her so much, I also have this selfish reason that I no longer have anyone to talk to about it. As I said, a stranger on the phone could never replace my baby sister. She was my crisis line as I was hers. Then there are others who say they understand, but they don't. Not really. They may think they understand, but it is at best on a superficial level. When the world is demanding more, not knowing the lengths I already go through just to accomplish the above, it just makes me feel so much more alone. It's not like I expect to be genuinely asked how I feel every five minutes. But maybe it could at least proceed demanding even more out of me. I only have so much blood, and I'd rather not faint or worse. See, I kind of need at least some of what's flowing in these veins to be alive and stuff. Workplace bathrooms are for more than taking a giant dump on the clock. They're also a good place to go cry and recover your emotional state. Just because I have been successful at remaining somewhat functional does not mean it's not one hell of a struggle. Nobody knows my mind at all, much less how this old heart feels. These thoughts can be so much more than heavy. They can also be a bit dark. Fighting the gloom is a daily thing for me. I expend a good deal of effort keeping on the bright side, fighting back the clouds and the rain. Or at least holding out for a moment when I can be alone and let the rain fall. Sympathy would get me nowhere, but a bit of understanding could go very far. A bit of acknowledgment that I am doing the absolute best I can would go light years. That's just the kind of fuel Scotty needs. It is just a lonely feeling that nobody knows the magnitude of your struggle, even for the mundane day to day. It's not like I expect full understanding, but it sure does my heart good when people at least try. It is one powerful way of showing love.  Do they even know how hard it is faking a smile, faking a cheerful disposition, to school myself not to be an asshole to others by taking my problems out on them? Knowing that everybody hurts in their own way just adds guilt to the weight of everything else when I fail to do so. It is so important to be kind. One cannot expect others to be kind if they're the one being mean. I am trying so hard not to be a grouch. It really doesn't help, you know. Who wants to be around a grouch? Not even grouches want to be around a grouch. My mother always said to be the person you want to meet. She also said that to have a friend, you must be a friend. I never could find fault with her words. I can almost still hear her voice in my head when I tell myself these things. It's funny how the dead still speak to those who still have memory. Between Momma and Marsha, my head is never empty. Without them here on Earth, my heart always is. Well, if she ever wondered if I listened, I still hear you, Momma. Even now, even when your voice is just a memory echoing through my mind. I hear, and I understand. If I start to see you as well as hear you, I'll know I've either gone down in madness or in death. One or both is what my future holds. Days, weeks, months, years, decades, who knows how much longer I have? I guess I'll have to ask the shadow. I heard he knows everything. And with that, I believe it is time for a subject change. Clean Cup move down. 

Okay, how about this subject? This time change sucks and Spring Forward really pisses me off. Who do I need to tell to stop messing with the goddamn time? Pick one and leave it the hell alone. And I don't care which one. It is one of the stupidest ideas anyone ever came up with. It does not lengthen the day. All it does is screw up sleep patterns. Pick one and leave it alone! There. Rant over. New subject? As the Mad Hatter shouts, clean cup, move down! 

Once again, this warm sunshine sure feels nice. It unknots the pretzels formally known as the muscles in my back. It also makes me very sleepy. And when it comes down to sunshine on my shoulders, John Denver surely had a point there. And, just like he sings, it makes me happy. I need to remind myself that moments like these are a joy within reach, not a fantasy that can never be realized. There is always beauty and warmth that even a lonely soul such as mine can still enjoy. It's not everything I wanted, but at least it's something to fill the void. My cup may runneth under, but at least there's something in it. Bourbon? Ha, kidding! Just a bit of spring sunshine. If only I could pour it into my heart. Marsha and Momma would appreciate that. It happens to be where they live. I'm sure it's not the only place in this multiverse they live. My love for them is never past tense. It is now, onwards, and for as long as this soul may exist. The correct tense is to say I love them now and forever. 

It is odd that even trying to distract myself can just lead me right back to square one. I was online listening to different music when I found this song that used to play a lot on Star 98 in Tallahassee. Back then, I was obsessed with recording that station so I could listen to it in my car. See, I lived on the fringe of that station's range and had actually gotten pretty creative with my antenna arrangement just to listen at home. Well, Marsha just so happened to live in Tallahassee, so I asked her to record me some Star 98. Well, it turns out that my baby sister was kinda burnt out on that station, as they played it all day at the coffee shop she was working at the time. I guess too it reminded her of a job she didn't exactly like. Still, despite this, she still recorded some tapes for me. That was my baby sister. So that's how I went from distracted to crying just from hearing one song. It has been well over a year, and I still break down sometimes. She was one of the very few people on this planet who genuinely loved me. Recording those tapes for me was one of the many reasons I had no doubt. As the Tin Man once said, I know I have a heart because it's breaking right now. I miss her. I know I say it over and over again, but it just hurts so damn much that I have to talk about it sometimes. I miss my sister.

Meet The Zuckman Same as The Vuse Man

I was a pack a day smoker up until I was about 28 or so... I managed to finally quit for a few years. Then I went through one hell of a divorce. I started back with cigars and eventually wound up on those vapes. All that hard work kicking the habit for nothing. Not only have they kept jacking the price up, I have also had some scary moments where I'd cough so much I couldn't breathe in. It felt like drowning on dry land. Damn terrifying!! Well, now I would like to announce that today makes a month since I quit. It's wonderful to breathe again, and I've been rewarding myself with fast food and records with the money I no longer waste on that bad habit.  It is so worth quitting. That stuff is poison, plain and simple.
 

I am thinking very seriously about quitting yet another bad habit this year. While those damn vapes were deteriorating my physical health, a certain social media site has been just as bad for my mental health. Now, they have gone and crossed yet another line. Now, while I am a true believer in free speech, I can understand why the wackos talking about bleach and conspiracy theories, putting people in danger, should be curtailed. It is when they meddle in everyday harmless things, where I get pissed off. And last night, for the first time ever, They tried to censor me. The thing is, it had nothing to do with politics or anything I mentioned above. It didn't involve anything that could even be remotely construed as offensive or disturbing to anyone. Yet there must have been something that their robots must not have liked. And really, does it matter? Not really, because this sudden affront to my expressing myself is only the icing on the cake. I have written about it in these ramblings here and there. The whole site is designed to draw people in and keep them there, and for many, it is not a pleasant place to be. It is designed to exploit our feelings of loneliness and disconnect. It is similar in concept to making the one armed bandits flash their pretty lights and make their exciting beeps and blips that make a poor soul keep putting their rent money in the slot. And just like that big payout that never comes, neither does any relief from said loneliness and disconnect. After all, a happy, loved, connected human being is not good for business. No, no, no. They can't draw in the money and the data unless you're constantly checking for fulfillment that will never come. The only difference is that you are gambling with your mental health (your life, really) instead of your money. And that, my friends, is far more dangerous. To say these people with their algorithms and their bots give a god damn about public health and safety or have any right whatsoever to claim the moral high ground has got to be the biggest joke of all, and not a very funny one at that. So, yeah, this has been a long time coming. Just as the scary drowning on dry land episodes plus the steep price hike got me to quit vaping, the exploitive mental, emotional environment, those so called targeted ads that kept accusing me of being some blue pill addicted, limp noodled, old baldy with sex on the brain, plus being censored for a John Lennon quote, made me finally quit Facebook. This may just be the year to throw out a bunch of exploitive unhealthy shit. Now, Twitter, on the other hand, I'll be keeping because my use of it has evolved in the last year or so. See, I mainly follow and very rarely actually post there. There, I get my daily dose of classic FPS games, visual novels, music, beautiful women, and yadda yadda Yoda (Star Wars memes). I follow in such a way that keeps the politics at a minimum. Those armchair think tankers can battle it out in their own arena. As for me, I seek only distractions that will make me happy. As for expressing myself, I do that here, at least verbally. I am thinking about maybe finding a place to express my passion for photography, nature, sunrises, and as Hightower from "Police Academy" once said, "Flowers and shit." Maybe somewhere like Deviant Art? I'll have to give that some thought as a place like that might actually get some foot traffic and notice. That's mostly a good thing, but I do tend to carry my heart on my sleeve, just like my mother did. It seems I have noticed even more in the year since she passed, just how much of her is within my own personality, and not just from realizing how often I quoted her sayings to my children when they were growing up. I have just seen how people can be so cruel to each other online, and it's just not something I could deal with very well. Momma always had a difficult time letting things go when it just served no purpose to be holding on to what only hurt to do so. It's funny how I could so easily point that particular flaw out, yet later find it just as strongly within my own personality. Momma, I could never deny being yours, as I see so much of you here. I am a weird cross between the two awesome individuals who brought me into the world. There are so many things I do or say and realize, That's Dad, or That's Momma. Dad had the temper. Momma had the super sensitivity. Me, I will start crying and want to fight. Anyway, what I'm saying is I certainly don't want ugliness of any kind. Maybe putting a few pretty pictures out there won't bring about anything bad. I mean, I wouldn't be calling myself a professional or anything like that, simply doing something that I love. Maybe I could even make a friend or two. I have no idea. Social situations are scary to me, always have been. Still, I have got to express myself. Maybe with words here and pictures there, I can do that. I really need a healthy place in which I can be as much myself as I possibly can. It is not only the fear of going mad with loneliness. It is also the burden of so much of my story never being told. I can't always come out and exactly say it, but with more than words, maybe I can get just a little closer. I need this so much. I am so tired of inescapable check boxes and targeted advertising. They miss the mark by a parsec. I am not him. I never was. I am not that guy who eats the blue pills and blinds the world with his forehead. My thoughts could not be further from what the algorithms think. Check box gender, check box age, check box race, check box demographic. It's all bullshit. I'm (fill in the blank), so I must like this or that or whatever. Bullshit! I am a unique human being. I am nobody's damn target.  They get so many things wrong, yet claim to be the arbiters of truth. As I said, it's one big joke and not funny at all. Now, they can serve their blue pilled baldy advertising to someone who better fits that particular mold. I quote Dylan: It ain't me, babe. It ain't me you're looking for. Fact check this, you jerks, and keep those delusions of godhood to yourselves, eat a few blue pills, and buff that baldy to a mirror shine. Might I suggest Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean? Like I said, you are preaching to the wrong damn choir.  Wow... Am I really that angry?  Well, this so happens to be the place I vent, and I guess meddling with my expression is the express train to pissing me off. I've got to get this out somewhere. These are my words. This is me. Nobody has the right to change one iota. If they want different, they should go elsewhere and be who they wish to be. I won't tamper with their expression, so they shouldn't tamper with mine. Here, you get my true feelings. The question, "What is on your mind?" should never but never be disingenuous. And (As Bruce Campbell Elvis said in Bubba Ho-tep) Never but never fuck with the king. Thank ya. Thank ya very much.

I talked a few chapters ago about what I call the anxiety cycle, at least with me. Right now, I am in the final phase, as in the rapidly falling to earth stage, also known as the inevitable crash. My bed sounds so nice, and I am very much looking forward to copping some serious Z's. I'm gonna be like a bear in a cave. And I'm tiredah den da average bear, a voo va va voo! Getting that upset just does not do my body good, nor my mind. The only fix is sleep and a total reset. So, so, I've gotta go. If you happen to see the Zuck, tell him I said to Self himself, only replace that first Z with an F. 

Goodnight Universe.

Sending my love. 

 Universe, Universe, Universe,
It seems you are here and not here.
It seems you're the same, so familiar to me.
It seems you're so different I don't know you anymore.
You seem as far as the stars, You seem so close
You are writing these words with me.
It seems I can can hear you, speaking to me.
The silence is deafening, you have never spoken a word.
I feel I know you better than even myself.
I feel I know nothing and never really knew at all.
I am a definite construction of my experiences.
I feel certain it was all just a dream.
Perception is all that's left, a choice really.
In believing she's still with me.
or believing myself insane.

Sister, Sister

 

I woke up in a haze, running late, having to move quickly before I got my brain in gear. On autopilot, running on empty. navigating by muscle memory, I awoke to find myself here. I looked around, seeing reality in every direction, yet lost in the memory of a dream...

 

Dear sister, beloved sister,  My guardian, my warrior, my hero, my friend. How can I bear this lifelong sentence without you? The permanence of it all comes back to haunt me again and again. Everything's such a mess, the opposite of how it should be. All is chaos, things falling apart, while I seem to do the same. The world just isn't right anymore. It is a night sky without its brightest star. It is the Moon without a face. It is a brother without you. All the laws of logic seem to be unraveling before my very eyes. It's like molecules breaking their bonds, entropy reigning supreme. As Yeats said, "Things fall apart, the center doesn't hold." This beautiful sunshine belies the sense underneath that keeps saying that something's just not right. Even the soothing sound of falling rain seems just a bit off. Is this truly my universe now? It can't be. How can it be my universe and not be you? The beautiful song of the birds is nothing but a pretty falsehood. The surface does not match the core, the blanket does not match the fabric, and this universe and its atoms do not seem to jive. It's not right, but it is. One can't argue with what is, only lament the way it once was. Something's missing. Someone's missing. The brilliant work of art that is heaven and earth is no longer complete. How could it ever be again? 

 

 

 

Waking up to reality is not an easy thing to do. But we all have to face it. We've got to be functional. We've got to do all the things we're supposed to do. We can't be a broken record, even if our thoughts seem to forever sound like one, even if it has been more than a year, yet feels like yesterday. Grief is love scattered across the multiverse, to every corner of time and space in the hope to find you again, happy again, healthy again, whole again. I get the feeling that my dreams are merely this quest, this search, glimpses beyond eternity. I can't explain that which has no definition. Feelings do not always have words. Sometimes, they are beyond language. I learned all too recently that part of ones soul often lives within the light of another human being. When they go, so does that part of yourself. I miss you, Sis. Not a day goes by without a thought for you. The universe is not the same, and neither am I.

A Few Random Thoughts

Well, Hello There, Universe. 

Universe:"General Kenobi!"

Ah, just kidding. But, still, my friends Hello Universe indeed. How are those galactic proportions getting on? I hope they're going well, at least with no more than the usual chaos, no more entropy than the usual falling apart. Maybe we can all hold it together just a little while longer, right? Let's all give it the 'ol non college try. 

I don't know what's been going on with me of late, but I have been sure having a hell of a time dragging myself out of bed in the mornings. It's for once not having been from a lack of sleep. Heck, I've been falling over like a giant redwood, sometimes even before the sun has gone down, knocked out like after a fight with Mike Tyson. Still, it's been a serious pain in the backside waking myself up. I wonder if this has anything to do with me quitting that vaping. I'm telling ya, that's poison. My breathing has been so much better with far fewer drowning on dry land experiences. Those were scary as hell. It's been about three weeks since I quit the damn Vuse Man. I've actually been doing really good with that despite several stressful events in the past couple of weeks that made me seriously think of giving up. I really have no support to lean on, and I've been a nicotine addict for the majority of my life. Still, I have gone 24 days so far, and I'm past the worst of it. Maybe this will be the time I finally throw it off altogether. I used to spend about $40 a week on those damn things. I think I might take some of that and reward myself with some decadent fast food. Sure, it's bad for me but not as bad as what I just quit, right? After all, there are many pleasures in life I doubt I'll ever experience again. I might as well enjoy the ones I can. There are not many left. Drinking lost its fun a long time ago. I like being able to properly walk, talk, and think, thank-ya-very-much. So, fast food it is. Oh, and ice cream. Give me mint chocolate chip or rocky road. Of course, I probably need to be careful not to wind up looking like a Sumo wrestler after a while. No offense meant, but if my goal is to be healthier than I was, then I do need to watch it. If I had gone through quitters incorporated, it would be about time for Mr Donati to start checking my weight. Though, whose pinky finger would be at risk, I have no clue. 

I know I have said this before, but it bears saying again: Something to look forward to in life is a necessity, not a luxury. Yep, we really need this to live. Without it, we die a slow, miserable death. Another important thing is to at least feel as if one person truly loves you, cares what happens to you, and cares about your feelings. Without that, you may wonder why you even bother anymore. I am not merely talking romance or yadda yadda Yoda, as there are so many shades of loneliness. I can quite easily tell one from the other. I have become a connoisseur of sorts over the years. It is not the lack of a lover that cuts the deepest. It is the lack of love itself that hurts the most. The reality of life is not easy in the first place. I probably need not tell you that. If you are a human being, chances are you know as well as I do. There is a lot of harshness I have learned to accept in this life. This world kicks you hard in the backside, and never wastes time asking how you feel before doing so. I can live with a lot of this, but it's this loneliness that seems more than I can bear. I could face a lot of reality, if only I had somewhere to come home to. You go through life, feeling like crying, but you know you can't do that. You're expected to function like nothing is wrong. Life's not so bad when you have the love and emotional support of others and to be able to give your own love and support for them. Without this, life is just torture. I have no positive reasons to wake up in the mornings, only negative ones. You don't want to lose your job, do you? Otherwise, I would just sleep forever. I know I have talked in circles about this. I wish I could come up with something better to say. I have been asking myself why I bother. Life can be beautiful, you know? I know. Though it might be merciful not to know. Remember late December? That brutal north wind cuts deeper when you remember a warm, spring-like day like this one. To know what it is like to be warm is half the harshness of being cold. To know how it feels to be loved is half the bleakness of being alone. This is some heavy stuff to be thinking about. I can't say I like these thoughts at all. I need that memory messer upper from MIB. There's a lot of shit I'd love to forget. I think I'd be a lot happier in ignorance. Knowledge isn't always power, my friends. Oftentimes, knowledge can be a burden. Would a prisoner truly be a prisoner if they knew not of life outside that cell? What exactly did Hamlet say about being bound in a nutshell yet being the king of infinite space? It's these momentary glimpses of what it could be to be free that are the true slings and arrows. And, herein lies your answer, dear prince. Life seems so full of the tragedy of lost nobility. One could literally sacrifice everything and never even be a blip on the radar. It's like a golden asteroid that could've made you rich, had it not have fallen into that black hole, never to be golden again. It's just heaviness with no purpose or meaning. In Valley talk, it's a bummer, dude. Or as Cheech would say, that's heavy shit, man. My mind is a broken record, a looping tape real, an 8-Track tape going round and round. And I guess words need to be said now and again to preserve whatever sanity I have left. Reading back over a lot of what I say here can sure put a lot of things in doubt. So maybe I have already gone just a bit crazy. As I say, if so, I've earned it. Well-earned insanity. Well, that's one to check off on the old bucket list. Also known as the fucket list. We'll do it live. Tell me, friends: On a scale of one to infinity, how obscure are my references? I actually have little catchphrases that come from a variety of sources. "I forgot what I was doing, Kremmit!" That was a stoned Big Bird talking to an equally high Kermit in some random parody. And I say it every time I forget something. I'd come up with more examples, but I'm not gonna do it. It wouldn't be prudent at this juncture. Besides, I forgot what I was doing, Kremmit. 

I am so looking forward to my fan and my bed and maybe a bit of background noise.. When I'm this tired, sleep takes on this mystical, magical power. There was this scene from an old Sierra game, with a garden, an old rock wall, flowers, with a bench shaded by dark green trees. I imagine falling asleep in a place like that. In my little fantasy, the clock never dares to move in that wonderful place. There, you can close your eyes and never worry or fear again. You are safe now. You have come home. You are in the garden, and nobody could ever harm you here. Cool, huh? All of this from a 1990s video game scene that had absolutely nothing to do with sleep. It sure sounds like something that I would do. 

I think about Marsha a lot. There has never been a day when my thoughts have not turned to her. 40 was way too young. I guess I have said this so many times. But talking and writing, they have nothing on these thoughts. One might as well compare grains of sand to skyscrapers or subatomic particles to grains of sand. That is the magnitude. It gets to levels of comparison that are so abstract that they're pointless to make. To say I miss my baby sister is to say I breathe, that my heart still beats. What else can I really say? I love you, Sis. I miss you terribly. Meanwhile, the world goes on and on and on.