Feeling rather icky at the moment. Hopefully some nourishment and hydration will fix it.
Specifically, my head hurts and my joints ache and I feel a tad woozy. Like I just got off a carnival ride on a hot summer day and I am dizzy and nauseous and more than a wee bit dehydrated, and it’s time to go inside Cahill Center and use the water fountain outside the gate between the two arenas.
That may or may not apply to your childhood, however.
In keyboard news, I oopsed again
It was supposed to arrive yesterday, but I got an email telling me there was a problem with my payment.
Clicked on it and found out that I had messed up when I inputted the digits for my latest credit card and therefore the charge didn’t go through.
Annoyed grunt! So I had to re-input the info and now I won’t get it till Wednesday.
Grr. I get so sick of dealing with my own bullshit sometimes.
I need a hyper competent assistant who is great at keeping me on track and organized and hopefully cut down on the frequency of my fuckups.
Maybe even, God willing and the crick don’t rise, make me seem like a coherent and competent adult instead of the stumbling fool I really am.
This is what happens when you overspecialize in the cerebral. You end up being a brilliant qnd amazing doofus.
We hothouse flowers need our gardeners.
I am still looking for mine.
More after the break.
This little life of mine
I’m gonna let it shine.
Sooner or later, Eventually. Probably. Hopefully.
It’s not like my current life is terrible. It’s not. I am safe and warm and comfortable. I have food, shelter, water, and a modest array of creature comforts.
Plus, of course, an endless number of ways to enter myself thanks to the infinite bouquet of boons that is the internet.
No, this is not a terrible life. But neither is the life of a well kept zoo animal.
And that’s what I feel like. I have everything I need except freedom. There is a big bright and beautiful world out there absolutely brimming with the kinds of experiences and other inputs that I so desperately need in order to grow and mature into a real and substantial adult type person at long last.
Instead of the baby bird with a broken wing from when he failed to fly when booted out of the nest long that I am now.
I think that made sense.
It’s just not good enough. I should have shed my metaphorical skin a dozen times by now. Instead, all my growth remains bundled up inside me and the pressure that creates is enough to crush the very soul out of me.
And I wish I could just my soul burst into rowdy bloom like an arctic weed, colors everywhere, and finally stand up tall and proud and finally breath free.
But it’s not that east. Nothing ever is.
So instead I quietly rot away in this cozy coffin, and dream of pastures anew.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.