Listening to The Dead Flag Blues. The song has dialogue from what may someday become a film. Most dialogue never becomes film.

It's moody and bleak and I am hesitant to write while it plays. Don't want to depress myself for no reason.

The dogs need a bath. I shall endeavor to bathe them this weekend, during the sunniest part of the day.

More ideas for remodeling are stirring about my head. I think some part of me got the impression that I have a workshop and can actually attempt these things. Alas, I do not. Maybe I can get a workbench at least. Ooh, and a vise. I love a good vise. Maybe a little anvil. Annoy the neighbors.

Eight miles. Walked 8 miles and my shoulder hurts for some reason. Must have slept pretty hard last night.

What is the measure of success? Having the fewest regrets? Not many objective measures once I leave the realms of biology, geology, and physics. Given how I feel moment-to-moment, I am wary of anything that factors in my emotional state. Some NPR article or perhaps a bumper sticker mentioned that when a person is on their deathbed, they always say they should have spent more time with their family and loved ones. I understand that sentiment, certainly. I think that's common because the people in question are at the end of their story and they can look at it with the eye of an editor instead of as the artist.

We only get the 1st draft of our life; after that it's up to the editors. If we're lucky maybe even a soundtrack. Your Life: The 2-Disc Album: A 120-Minute Slice of Forever. Or something equal parts epic and vague. We don't want people deciding if they should like it or not before they listen to it.

It just has to be experienced.

Didn't make it to 10 miles yesterday. Stopped a little after six. It was getting late. Maybe save the big walks for the weekends. Six miles takes about two hours.

I'm taking my work break a little earlier than usual. Some brain magazine about thinking stuff suggests that our meager human brains can go about 90 minutes before they get attention-fatigue and need a quick recharge. I go about 3 hours in between breaks. I'm aware that I check my phone more often at about Hour 2. Get more easily distracted. Or maybe my brain is at war with itself.

I like being focused. Perhaps my ability to suppress my rage at being interrupted diminishes as the day goes on. Also there are fewer coworkers about. My cubicle mate has a habit of taking personal calls at her desk. My noise-canceling headphones are good, but they're not as good at blocking out human voices. I should just get a motorcycle helmet. Safety first.

I spent some time last night reading old blog posts about Luis. Living at home was a wealth of Luis Lore. We'd laugh so much.

Last night I went over to my mom's house to get some stuffing. It's pretty much regular bread stuffing with sausage in it. Throw a couple over-easy eggs on it, you got yourself a stew. Barbara and the nephews came over too. I also snagged some flan. Bizarre desert, how I love you.

Ten miles walked on Saturday. Ten miles walked on Sunday. A little stiff and a little sore. Just have to do it 298 more times. Along the way I'll probably become the greatest Call of Duty player that ever walked 3,000 miles. Might have to start a league.

Blister is almost healed. There was spot that was rubbing my heel in my shoe. I covered it with a bit of duct tape and it hasn't bothered me since.

Thanksgiving has come and gone. I enjoyed spending time with my family, and Kelly's. I also went to a memorial for Kelly's grandfather on Saturday. It was at ASU, where he taught. It went well, I think. The grief was not as raw, it seemed.

I've started tinkering a bit around the house again. Time to get rid of some things, maybe drill some more holes in the wall. I bet I could squeeze a wall-mounted computer desk behind the treadmill. Walk walk walk, shower, then sit and write. Just like old times.

Something appealing about a cramped room.

A town overrun by beasts. The people bar themselves inside at night and burn incense to ward away the nightmare creatures. I know the feeling.

Image of a man sitting in a small room, listening to soft ambient music and a police scanner.

Grin Verdigris.

Thanksgiving tomorrow. I think I promised to make something. But what? Hash browns would be good. Everyone loves those. Non-mash potatoes are in right now.

The miasma of the holidays does not lie as heavy upon me this year. I wonder why. The memory of Luis is still there. Some years ago, probably noted in this very blog, I contemplated giving my mom a compilation of the stories I wrote about Luis into a book for her. Hell, maybe I should just book the whole thing. The Story of Luis, interrupted many times by some dude writing about hisself. I'll title it Volume II. That'll drive people nuts.

Volume I could be the notebooks, and come out as Volume 3. The bibliography will be whatever happens between now and another ten years. Or my death, whichever comes first. Or the death of the written word, whichever comes firster.

Electrons go on strike.

Madness and rage and more madness still. Working at work without proper pills.

Like the Smile-And-Nod pill, and the Reply-All-Email-Anger suppressant.


Relying too long on this poster of just the words "REMEMBER ALL THAT CRAP YOU WANT TO BUY". What if I buy enough? Can't risk it.

I think what it comes down to is that usually I hate being interrupted, but sometimes I love it. Sometimes I like a battle, other times I like a brawl. Meh.

Bah, I just hopped away from my break to respond to yet another email. The typing starts and doesn't want to stop; put different objects beneath my hands and they will tap tap tap and then delete delete delete. Editing is not a necessary work skill, it seems. Treat this life like a rough draft and hope you remember what you meant when you come back to it. Build it up like a god creating a mountain, then carve out a fortress in your subsequent drafts.

Today, I was ready for the swell of love for family. It came at its usual time, although it fled when I attempted to examine it. Not far, only around the corner.

I've been wearing my WOOT hoodie, with the circulatory system of vines and a heart of falling leaves. Autumn Heart, it's called. I came across it when I was contemplating a Luke Cage costume, the easiest version of a hoodie with bullet holes in it. Turns out he wears a specific brand, Carhartt, which is not the cheapest brand of hoodie. I wanted to be lazy, but the cosplay side of me wanted a little something.

I miss my peacoat hoodie, but it is eaten by Marceline the dog and is gone. In hindsight I could have easily made that into a bullet-ridden costume. I check for it on Amazon now and then. Maybe I could get a peacoat and wear it over this hoodie. Maybe.