Saturday

I've been pretty good at remembering to step back behind the immediate thinking my brain throws at me lately. Actions and reactions play out in my brain and I remember to step back and just witness them. Sometimes though things get intense and I don't remember. Or, I remember, but this remembering does not have the needed effect. There is still the sting or the stink of something infecting me. Then, extra effort is required. I have to bring it back to the breathing. The feel of the hands on the steering wheel. The full immersion in the words I happen to be reading. Attention to every sound that can possibly be heard around me. Count the sounds. Auditory inventory. A bird pretty far away. Traffic noise. A leaf blower somewhere. A compressor on a refrigerator or an air conditioner. Sometimes I just deal with the fact that things are going to bug me. I am going to be bugged for a while. I have to even step out of my 'efforts' to 'deal with'...'troubles.' It feels like it takes effort to be effortless enough to not be affected. It takes effort to throttle the instinct to get snagged by the hooks that hang down in the path. Immerse myself in the task at hand. Multitask by being super focused on each item one after another in rapid succession. Task. Next task. Next task. Tasks complete for the day? Okay. Now peace. Gracefully glide around home or the environment, the store, the gas station, the where ever. Writing seems like a good idea lately. I'm keeping a pen and paper journal lately and it has lots of self helpy tips that I remember from all my reading and video watchin. I feel like I'm doing more than just reciting the words of the self helpy steps. I'm applying them a lot. I want to say more though. I want to discuss more than just how to avoid the negative. There are stories, and while some say the stories are futile and false and foolish and they trap you and they keep you stuck...when you keep the stories, you stay in the stories. Stories are just invented. Stories are substitutes for the present moment. Not good. But the stories are stories. Stories exist. I just don't have to be stuck in them. I can tell them without being them -- without being in them. Stories can be gems. Stories can bring glory.

Sunday

I've been keeping a pen and paper journal. That doesn't mean I have kept any kind of 'dedicated, disciplined writing practice' though. The journal is for a very specific event that is occurring in my life right now. Sprinkled throughout that journal are reminders to not freak out, basically. The big event I'm journaling is a change of job situation/change of location. I won't bore 'us' with all the details, but I'm sure the details will slip out here and there as time goes on as I've decided to type more stuff into this blog because it seems like I'll have some more time...but I might actually have less time...I just happen to be up early on a Sunday and felt compelled to see if the blog was still here, if it still logged on and if it would still let me type stuff in it. So basically: pay me what I'm worth, but only what I'm worth. Only pay me while I'm working. There will be times when I'm clueless. Don't pay me then. There will be tasks that will be right up my alley. I will knock those out the park. Pay me for that. I might have time to learn more stuff and be even more useful. Maybe I can get paid more, but, maybe not for a while. Maybe not during this phase. I think there will be phases. There will be new fellow humans and new things to learn. Getting paid is boring. I wish I had a canoe, a kayak or a rowboat. Or a little dirt bike would be fun too, a little screamer I could take down dirt trails in the new place, in the heat, in the red clay, among the pines, in the place where every other place is named 'Pinesomething' or 'Something Pines.' E-Cigs and energy drinks. Cool figurines that I adopted early. Dice games. New place, new people. Familiar family. Hammering out details. Long drives. Great reminders, opportunities and invitations. Some fear, some excitement. Some shedding of old and adapting to new. Recently heard words that really resonate:

When something is recognized to not be in resonance with the felt truth, it gets evicted by itself. --Mooji

Pretty hard to scoff at that, but let's try. Who cares. Why think at all? Who cares at all? Stop all the thinkin.

For as long as I can remember, I have jammed all kinds of slips of paper in between the books on my bookshelves (Everybody does that, right?).

Sometimes I'll pull an old book off a shelf, and one of these pieces of paper will fall out, and...this...sure will bring some stuff back...

Saturday

I like reading reviews and watching videos about camping/survival equipment and techniques, but I don't actually camp or put myself in survival situations. I have camped out twice in the last three years. I go on day hikes over the weekend, but yeah, I'm an indoor cat mostly.

This is actually a great month here in Florida to go camping. I can't go swimming for the next two months though, which sucks. I seem to have ruptured, perforated or otherwise damaged my eardrum on a recent flight to Michigan (the people there almost revoked my 'Man Card' when they heard me describe my sissy existence...has cat...has no guns...doesn't kill animals...doesn't have dog...lives in an apartment in a Disney suburb

I made a manly, survivorly purchase online though! I bought Time Magazine's 2005 Invention of the year: A Life Straw. That way, when the shit goes down, I'll still be able to drink some water out of puddles in the parking lot of the strip malls around here. I also bought a self inflating super duper air mat that hikers and campers use...but I'll probably use it inside - like when I go visit a friend of mine who lives pretty far away, and like stay over the weekend on the floor.

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I was sad to see that all my images got deleted from this blog after some experimenting with a google plus account and blah blah blah. My youtube videos are still here though, so that's good. Dammit...i had some pretty cool pictures on this blog before. I'll have to re-post them. Some of the photos are on my Mac - which is tired and old and doesn't go online much anymore.

Really bummed about my pictures...I had some cool cool pictures of Florida that I've taken. Shit. Oh well. The text is still here.

Sunday

I'm neck deep in life stuff: Moving stuff, a couple weekend trips, human relations, work work work and a deep space nine habit.

It's 4:24am Sunday morning and I feel like I'm faced with choices: 1. Watch some videos about some technology that may or may not put me ahead in my work. 2. Write a blog post. 3. Watch more deep space nine. 4. Watch Alfred Hitchcock Presents. 5. Work on a dumb little story I've been pecking at. 6. Meditate. 7. Try to sleep.

Good night or good morning.
If somebody were to ask how I'm doing lately, I guess I would say stressed by work stuff. I'm happy about some people I have met, but choose to remain vague on that because that's how I do on this blog. I do vague here. Or, I alternate between vague and complete disclosure, but, who cares who cares who cares. I am in a position where I can give some advice to a young buck...I've already given some advice...and the advice seemed to be welcome, good advice. What would you do if you were 22 and you were starting all over? (and you had an art you were trying to cultivate...) I don't have a lot of faith in my advice giving capabilities...or maybe I just don't have faith in my own implementation of my own smarty pants advice. I'm thinking about making big big changes. Again, I say a thing and I remain vague on it. Vague works though. Vague might make it universal. So my advice to you so far is: give good advice to young bucks and always consider making a 'big change.' Feel wiser? More equipped to deal with life? No, right? Oh well. Hey, remember all that spiritual stuff I was pounding all the keystrokes about for months and months, maybe a year or more? Well, the good news is a lot of it is committed to muscle memory! It really can help out a temporary staffer like me now and then to just sit there and think about my hands. They are my anchors to this crazy blue fastball that's flying through space, I grab a thread and hang on with em. "Bring your attention to your hands. You'll notice a certain energy around them..." Yes yes yes. Too much. Still the same Bobby here reporting to you live. Nothing new to report really. Still the work stress. That data, though...that data can be so zen...matching up GUIDs and finding new columns and each each record is A STORY. You are connecting strains of stories to other strains of stories and seeing all the stories, but really all of it constitutes one big story. The story of my paycheck. I imagine making precise folds to my paycheck until I have a very sleek paper airplane, and I shrink myself down and ride in it.

I love you Laura B. Peace be with you.

Whenever it seemed like nobody else in the universe was listening, you were. And you commented on every dumb thing I ever said on this dumb blog. ...and you never let a loner guy like me feel like I was completely alone...

Thursday

(not) Home for the Holidays

It looks like I won't make it home for the holidays. By home, i mean the home of one of my sisters or my niece. North Carolina. Virginia.

There are too many reasons why I am in this situation at this time in this place with these circumstances.

I am kind of a push over, and I let the job scare me into not taking days off. Other staff grabbed up all the days off. A project that I worked on is still in its infancy, and I'm afraid something will come up, something will need doing. My job is not that important, but I don't know who to try to con into covering my bullshit responsibilities...and it would be hard as hell to train somebody or document all of it. It's bullshit.

I am 750 miles away from where I grew up, 500 miles from my nearest family member who I would ordinarily see over holidays. I don't have family down here, but there is someone to spend Christmas with.

I guess I'm a Florida guy now, for real. This is where I live. This is home I guess. This is the place where I need to 'build a life.'

I'm here. I'm 'radically self reliant.' I got ants crawling on me. If I stand outside twenty minutes or longer, I will start to burn. I don't have to go far to retire. I wore shorts outside yesterday. I wear flip flops...often. I battle super mold with bleach and rarely win. I battle slow drivers. I battle fast drivers. There are weird birds here. Lightning strikes more here than anywhere. I was all wrong in my impressions of this place here. I never get sick here. I get bored here. Nothing ever dries here...but if it does, it bursts into flames.

Tuesday

42 Year Old Kid Wants to Give You Advice...Don't Listen

I am 42 years old, and I have no kids. So I am a 42 year old kid.

When you have kids, you have a certain mandatory maturity and a sense of responsibility that you do not have when you do not have kids. (Usually...mostly...of course there are exceptions...but usually a parent has some kind of inclination or pang of inclination or at least some feelings of guilt to show for their part in some act of procreation).

I mean, I am an adult. I do certain adult things. I can be tried as an adult. I work. I work pretty hard actually. Sometimes. I'm selfish though, self-centered.

I was thinking about all of this the other day while driving to work. And then a counter-thought occurred to me: I have a certain amount of experience. I have more experience than a 32 year old kid or a 22 year old kid or a twelve year old kid. I have advice that I could give. I have more experience than anybody who is younger than me, yes, but by the time a person reaches a certain age, they really wouldn't need any of the advice I could give them. Any wisdom I have attained by this point would be largely unneeded by anybody younger than I am...at least anybody within twenty years of my age. Most other people have their thing together waaaay before I do. They have their own advisers if they need them moreover. And then there's the matter of receptivity: Would anybody younger than I am be receptive to any kind of advice I have? Would I just be jamming platitudes down unwilling throats?

So really, what I am is a 42 year old kid with a desire to advise somebody.

A friend told me about something about spirituality and so called spiritual gurus...and it was brilliant. She said that spiritual advisers...the Echhart Tolles, the Louise Hays, Don Miguel Ruiz...all those fuckers are basically stuck in some phase of their spiritual evolution. They have a childish need to show how wise they are by dropping obvious wisdom on people they feel superior to. So basically: Don't be going around dispensing advise. Instead, be a model of the practice of the advise. Be the advise, be the wisdom. Be an example that others will want to follow just by being around you. It's kind of like that Ghandi thing: "Be the change that you wish to see in the world." I can't even do that. I do all that huffing and puffing at work. I forget birthdays. I don't often bring food for my department's MANDATORY FUCKIN FRIDAY LUNCH PARTY. I slam doors in old women's faces and laugh at them (just kidding)....I beep my car horn sometimes (and it sounds pathetic and wimpy...stupid Toyota horn...doesn't even sound like the horn of a car an adult would drive).

The only seemingly adult attributes I have...I guess...are: 1) I try not to bother people too much. 2) I am a pretty good listener. --These are both really passive attributes.

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Just now, I stepped outside on my little patio, and I noticed that it was raining lightly. This reality struck me funny. It was as though I couldn't understand how it could possibly be raining...because I had not consented to it...I didn't expect it, and therefore, how could it be happening? I had been outside an hour earlier, and it wasn't raining then, and I didn't notice the gathering conditions for rain, so I did not expect rain, so how could it possibly be raining without somebody clearing it with me first... Pretty weird huh?

My current job is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I haven't done a lot of hard stuff, I guess, but...some. High school wrestling was pretty hard. Skateboard tricks were pretty hard. Fuckin golf...fuck that shit. It's not has hard as wrestling or skating, but it's just hard enough to make me use the 'f' word a lot. Writing papers under deadlines in college was really hard.

But this job that I am currently in...it is the hardest thing I've ever done. It really throws me into these emotional extremes. I gasp and breath heavily and say "phew!" ...a lot...at work. There are a couple of new people in our department who sit right near me, and they are so calm. I guess they're seasoned. Or they're confident. Or they know what the ____ they are doing. To them, I must seem like an emotional disaster. I mean: I'm not constantly having freak-outs or throwing tantrums. There are just some times when it gets so intense...and it builds up...and I make a mistake and realize I've just wasted the last hour or two doing something in a stupid way...and that hour or two was a hard fought hour or two ...or I make a mistake that will cause me a lot of grief very soon...so then I say the word fuck. But I usually just whisper it kind of...but I draw it out...like...."fffffuuuCK" Like I don't even open my jaws to say it, I just rasp it through slightly opened lips...closed, clenched teeth...just...fffffffck! I mean, it feels like you've just created a disaster or wasted a bunch of time -- after you have given your absolute all, mentally, to this thing you're working on. And so your brain just instantly provides you this word...the very worst word you could possibly say...and it's right there. It's like letting pressure out of a valve followed by a slight kick, ffffffffck.

I'm sure the new people are horrified of me. They're very polite though. Seasoned.

It's funny because a guy there who is pretty much an absolute Buddha all the time...a genius...a nearly perfect person...a couple of times he has just SHOUTED fuck. So everybody in the room knows that something is very seriously wrong.

It makes me laugh thinking about it. It's such a futile and vile thing. Only people in certain lines of work are allowed this pressure relief...this saying of the 'f' word. Like if you were a priest, and you goofed up on your sermon, or you dropped the chalice of wine...you know...you couldn't just yell FUCK!

It's not all bad at work, but the thing is, when something goes smooth...as in...a successful thing has just happened that I was responsible for...I don't have an equally intense emotional reaction the other way. It's just like okay what's next.

Saturday

My brother always carried a gun. He didn't always need it. He didn't really need it much at all. In truth, I can only remember a few stories he told me where he actually 'needed' it. He never shot anybody. But he would make it known he was carrying it when he was doing his job, when he went to tow some junk car out of a rough neighborhood, say, and somebody was sneaking up or lurking, watching him, waiting for him to let his guard down, maybe, ...so that he could rob him. He had a few stories like that. Once he started carrying it all the time, he just got used to the feeling of having it on him. He got used to the feeling of security.

One night we were riding around for hours in my car, just driving...doing what we did on such drives... At one point my brother noticed that the vehicle behind us was very close. It was a big truck. The headlights were really high, and the beams were blazing on the backs of our heads. My brother got furious. We were on some desolate country road, in Suffolk, Virginia, I think. The longer the guy stayed on right our ass, the more furious my brother got. He had his gun on him, and he took it out. "Stop the fuckin car!"

I was extremely nervous.

"Stop the fuckin car, Bobby! Stop the car!" My brother was screaming at me as I drove.

I didn't want to stop the car. I was afraid of what might happen. I looked in the rear-view mirror at the blazing, big headlights getting closer and closer. I listened to my brother's escalating anger and screaming, right in my ear. I drove like that for a while...with the headlights...the screaming. I didn't stop at first.

I was afraid my brother would shoot at this guy. I was afraid of the guy in the truck behind us...or guys. I had no idea who it was behind us. It could have been six dudes with shotguns. It could have been one scrawny teenager. Finally I stopped the car.

"Okay. Now what," I said. The guy in the truck behind us also stopped. We are deep in the country, nobody around, no light, nothing. Just that guy's headlights illuminating us. I have imagined all kinds of alternate endings to that night. I imagined that I got out of the car and I sprinted back at the driver side of the truck, and I was greeted by a shotgun barrel. I imagined my brother getting out of the car and emptying a whole clip into the dude's windshield. I imagined myself...screaming back at my brother -- to get the fuck out of my car -- so he could walk his ass home three hours (the least likely of these scenarios).

So we sat there. The guy in the truck behind us just sat there too. My brother showed his gun to those big blazing headlights. My brother's raging body language, the gun shining in the headlights...maybe was enough of a demonstration for the guy behind us that...at least one of the people in my car was willing, apparently willing, to 'take this to another level' ...and end up on a police report or something.

We continued to sit there. Gradually, my brother became more still and quiet. He muttered stuff, that's right, motherfucker, you better not get out... So we sat there and we sat there and we sat there. I didn't say a word. Finally, my brother said, "Alright. Let's get out of here."

I put it in drive and began to drive away. The truck stayed parked where it was.

Monday

I shouldn't have that drunken post below be my most recent post. But I probably shouldn't care whether it is or not. And I need to stop being a chickenshit...deleting posts. It wasn't the most embarrassing thing I've ever posted...not even close. I've mentioned my blog to journals that I have been submitting stuff to lately...probably not a great idea. If they didn't think I was an idiot when they read my submission, they will when they read this blog.

Saturday

I ran into an amazing person! This guy...he wrestled from age FIVE! He's from friggin Iowa, and he was in on that whole Dan Gable thing in Iowa. I had already seen the guy numerous times at this Dharma Center I sometimes go to... I talked to this dude for like three hours just now. He...like...used to be a Tae Kwon Do instructor...and a golf instructor...ha...and him and me...we were just having a wild conversation about EVERYTHING. It was so so cool. And it happened at this favorite favorite place of mine, right now, right up the street, see. Anyway, I will see him again tomorrow morning at the Dharma Center, the Vajrapani Kadampa Buddhist Center thingie I sometimes go to. I had seen him up there but never really talked to him. Tonight I saw him at my favorite favorite place...and the whole local thing for me is actually working out...and I'm hanging out with super duper cool mufuckas at this place...an airplane mechanic dude, a guy who builds sports facilities (who seems very enlightened and awesomely shady, but wide awake) a guy with a long beard who rides a sweet motorcycle, truck loads of womens...not that I have any balls to talk to any of them...except for a couple (I am shnockered, by the way) ...just an awesome awesome night at a place right up the street...making me feel really good about where I live...like this exact location...and these exact people I be running with... and then there's this crazy party happening next weekend in a remote location...and I'm feeling like I just might go...these Burning Man people...anyway. Things is looking fun and crazy and exciting in boring Florida. Hey, let me tell you this: Don't post to your blog drunk. But if you do, who cares. Nobody's reading it anyway.

Time for a list:

1) After one hundred years in that relationship with that one and only person, I forgot how to deal with other people.

2) Last night I felt as though the most crucial writing task of my life was upon me, but I went to bed.

3) I am currently waiting out a rain shower, sitting in my car, waiting to go into a store. The other people who are pulling into the parking lot are showing admirable hustle, getting out of their car and running through the rain.

4) I hope that this friend of mine forgives me.

5) My boss is making me watch videos all weekend for some new product.

6) People should slow down in parking lots. I have seen two near misses just sitting here.

7) I have talked to two editors, and they both say, at the end of the day, in their spare time, they'd rather just look at the pictures, and not dense text, least of all: run-on sentences.

8) I have to go to my new favorite place tonight. They are starting to recognize me there.

Friday

Today I saw a guy riding a bike carrying a rake, and because my brain is really racing lately, I flooded this sight of this guy on a bike with a rake...I flooded it with all of this mental activity. My first unfortunate reaction was to make fun of him... like he was a superhero..."Look! It's Rake Man! And he's going to save the day, raking leaves at the house of some unfortunate elderly woman. I think my brain just felt the need to analyze and emote... something... anything... intensely. Plus, when I first caught a glimpse of him, it looked like he was riding the rake... like he was a witch... man witches ride on rakes instead of brooms.

Then I felt guilty... for making fun of him.

Then I felt sorry for him. He's just trying to get somewhere to earn some cash. People don't ride bikes to work in Florida unless they do not have a car. Everything is too spread out.

The guy waved to another guy who is on a bike across the street. For some reason, my brain made an association, and I looked to see if that other guy was also carrying some kind of tool. Like maybe these two guys were going to go meet on a job. But the other guy wasn't carrying anything.

Today should be a productive day at work, if I can focus all of this mental activity on something productive that is.

Monday

Sometimes I wonder if you did indeed become a ghost. When I describe you to people, and I describe your transition out of my life, I describe you as a ghost. You came home at midnight, every night, in those last two weeks. I didn’t hear the door open, you came in through a wall. You didn’t say a word to me or even look at me when you came home. You walked past me, two feet away, as I laid on the cot I had set up in the living room. You grabbed an insipid, craftless meal from the kitchen. You walked back to the bedroom, and you closed the door. Sometimes, when you came in, I did what I did as a child when I thought there was a ghost around. I laid still and squeezed my eyelids together as tightly as I could.

I believe that once I walked right through a real ghost. I told you the story, several times probably. Have you met that ghost in your ghostly interactions? Do you remember thay story? My coworkers from the restaurant and I ran around that 230 year old house all night, and we were all drunk. We were exploring and laughing and popping out and scaring each other. Nobody reported any ghost encounters at first, and people got tired and began to go home. In the end it was just a waitress named April and me. We were in the attic, and she was watching me walk around. Suddenly I froze. I felt a sensation like none I had ever felt before. It was hot and cold at the same time. Goosebumps popped up all over my skin. There was a weird, foreign energy that passed through me. I don’t think I ever told you what April and I did after that.

It often feels like a ghost might be watching. It’s never at a time that I would expect. It’s never at a time when I would actually need a ghost. Ghosts aren’t supposed to be ‘reliable’ I guess. They just are. Or they aren’t.

I have many theories about ghosts. Ghosts watch you when you are with your lovers. Ghosts can travel back through time and watch you with your past lovers. Ghosts can even see themselves during the time that they were with you, when they were still in a physical body.

Everybody has a ghost story. You had your ghostly photo with that strange blur of light. The light blur had a human form. I can’t remember now whether that ghost was somebody you knew, or if it was just a random ghost stranger . . . just moving through . . . a clumsy tourist, accidentally caught in somebody else’s photo.

Ghost by Neutral Milk Hotel on Grooveshark

Saturday

I was just watching an episode of the Louie show and I realized: EVERY situation has humor in it it because EVERY situation is absurd - if you examine it closely enough. Even every day, mundane things: they all contain humor if you peel back the layers and really examine them. All of our efforts are aimed at things which seem great, but which often are ridiculous . . . and our efforts are ridiculous. Sometimes it gets so ridiculous, that we go ahead and take it all the way to the extreme, extremely ridiculous. Because it's all ridiculous. Except being kind. That's the one non-ridiculous thing, being kind.

Thursday

I really need a hobby. People ask me, "What do you do for fun?" I don't really know what to say. Sometimes I say, "Roam around."

That doesn't sound that fun.

Today, somebody asked me, and I finally said, "Not much. It's kind of sad."

I'm too old and beat up for my old hobbies: pick-up soccer, skateboards, blah blah.

What do I do with my free time? I watch a lot of videos on youtube. I do roam around. I read stuff. I head into bars and drink beer every now and then.

I have been blogging a lot recently. Blogging. That would be a weird answer to what do you do for fun...

Sunday

Today was not an unusual day for me, a day of awkward and odd interactions and miscommunications and miscues and and apologies and tiny glimpses of sublime something or whatever...and extended thinking about my patterns and other standard stuff for half-crazy me.

I texted my neighbor a couple hours ago, "that was a shot right?"

Outside, I heard a firecracker or a shot, but I was thinking it was a shot.

"What?" he responded, an hour later.

"Earlier," I said.

"Nah," he said.

We do hear shots sometimes, we agree...some yahoo with a shotgun across the lake, the lake through the woods behind us. This is not a high crime area at all, and our complex management has even hired a security guard who I am afraid of who drives slowly in an SUV with more colored lights than Christmas. It made me think of other scary sounds from outside that I have heard while inside, lately, twice in the last couple of months, my coworkers and I have heard horrifying slams on breaks, screeches and subsequent crunches on the street outside. One time, it was a lady from another department of our company who pulled out of the parking lot in front of some BMW and got hit. She was okay. Everybody was okay.

Back to today and away from those extended thoughts and memories, today I was running around with a friend who I always get into weird goofy non-dangerous situations with. Today he wanted to take me to some place he thought was a park, but it was actually a reservation-required convention/retreat/compound sort of thing...but he was determined to enjoy this piece of America, so we got out of the car and started walking around.

"There is a sequestered retreat going on here today," said a lady with a tense face who hustled up to us as soon she spotted us. We said okay okay okay and started to leave...and I was getting bitten up by bugs anyway...but my friend had a business call he said he had to make right then and there and he didn't give a shit if they came and hassled us some more so I went and sat in the car. A mosquito got in the car when I got in, and I was trying to quick, open the door and shoo him out, and shut the door before allowing more mosquitoes in, but I was having no success, and the mosquito was the quickest one I've ever encountered, and I could neither swat him nor shoo him out, but I continued my efforts until my friend came and drove us out of there. The only way to get rid of mosquitoes in a situation like that is to start driving and put the windows down and let em get sucked out by the draft.

We made jokes about how the place was most definitely a cult compound as we drove off premises past a sand volleyball court and tennis court. We made about six wrong turns or missed turns on the way to and from the place because I was the one navigating.

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Today I texted a bit with a very stressed out person, an oncology nurse who I've been texting with lately. She was about to go into work another hellish night with people who are in the most terrifying part of their lives. She had only gotten four hours sleep between her last shift and this shift she was about to start.

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Today I looked up at an airplane and mumbled to myself, "Look at that airplane celebrating the sky." While I was looking up, I saw the top of this tall pine tree, and the needles were really shining in the sun. I was smoking a cigarette, and I got light headed, so I went and sat down. There were filter tips on the ground from those little cigars they make blunts out of, and my friend said, Yeah, he sits out here and smokes blunts all the time, and various women come and go, visiting him.

Around that time I drove home because I was feeling sick. I started to feel better after a few sips of an energy drink so I stopped and got my head mildly buzzed at Hair Cuttery. I probably left too big of a tip because of the lady who cut my hair and so on, and I felt stupid.

I got home to a lonely cat and a busted dvd player --no TV-- a blackout which I have half-enjoyed for the last week or so. I have an unfinished letter to my sister I must finish and mail...or just mail...because the letters are never finished. I read the ten year old blog archives of a dude who is one of my great great heroes and friends online...from all the way back at the beginning of my blogging days to the present day.