Saturday, July 21, 2007

I think my body is rebelling against me. I've given myself the week to rest, sort of, and I intend to work out tomorrow to see if everything still hurts.

I've been exercising quite a bit these past few weeks. It's odd because I'm growing more quickly than I expected. I was amused to see stretch marks around my chest and arms. Everything has a cost.

Eh, in the spirit of disclosure I should say that I am drunk. Thus, my thoughts may appear more disjointed than usual. It's hard to convey in print, since several minutes may pass between sentences.

Even more between paragraphs. I've been spending money. Credit, mostly, the cards I've been steadily paying off. It feels a bit like desperation. I'm going to hide them from myself again. That'll teach me.

I doubt I'm the first to say this, but I've been saying it a lot these few months. It's hard to be alone, but it's easier than being with someone else.

By "easier" I don't mean more worthwhile, just easier. Maybe like having a job where little is demanded of you and nothing is on the line.

Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked a salesman. Over the phone.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Jake has been motivating me to write more. I usually receive encouragement now and again and I appreciate it immensely. Jake, however, is able and willing to show up at my house and shout "Write, dammit!" directly in my face.

Amidst a monsoon inauguration of furiously-flung gouts of rain and dirt, I drove to the Ye Olde College Goodes Store. Clutching my composition notebooks, pens, and memo pads, I cast furtive glances at the items of the people ahead of me in line. Mostly plastic baskets of inexpensive alcohol and frozen foods in single portions. I was pleased at our silent solidarity, although I was opting for a different sort of loneliness.

Thus armed, I returned to my home. I put new batteries into my voice recorder. I seldom use it but between scribbling notes, my frenetic fiddling with the radio, and the occasional text-message, I have become an uncertain driver with which to share the road. The voice recorder should help.

I must rest now. My nephews both have temperatures of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. My temperature is about 97.1 which is a little low but I always figured I was cooler than most people.

Ow. I just felt as if a million hands raised up at once, and then slapped me. Odd.

Our dog, El Guapo (aka The Noobers, aka Noobington L. Dog) had a temperature of 100 degrees. I'm not sure what his temperature is normally so instead of medicine I gave him a piece of ham.

Speaking of discomfort, am I some lucky guy that gets to feel pain in his dreams? I didn't think it worked that way. In the past week I've had three distinctly painful dreams. It has been the case before that I've fallen asleep on my arm and dreamt about a hurt arm, but this is nothing like that.

Ants biting legs dream=stabbing needles of pain in my legs that vanish when I awake. Dream of getting stabbed=massive internal pain until I wake up writhing. Then, nothing.

Also a dream of Steve Buscemi shooting me with tranquilizers on a beach and watching me lie helpless on my back as the tide came in to slowly drown me. Which was uncomfortable, but mostly because I really like Steve Buscemi.

That might have been a sympathy dream because I've been teaching Ender to float on his back in the pool and he can do it most of the time, but man, he frikkin hates it.

I'll have to watch out for him. If I suddenly turn up dead and the autopsy reveals that I "suffocated on a rattle" you'll know.

You'll know.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

EDIT: Seriously, you have to give it up for the dance move at 2:57.

My friends and I used to discuss our "secret shame" which in this very specific context meant a song that got yer toes a-tappin and even singing along but only when no one else was around. For miles.

Here are a couple of mine. I apologize in advance.

I have returned from Las Vegas with bruised dancing feet and a liver that is no longer speaking to me. I have yet to shake off the residual wooze that accompanies two days of drinking capped by a massive breakfast that included but was not limited to donuts, crab legs, stir-fry, and hollandaise sauce.

All was wonderful. Mostly.

But now I know hollandaise sauce does not cure hangovers, no matter how much you use.