I'm not myself this morning. There are many reasons, some I can put my finger on and some I can't. You know what I mean. Intimately. You've had those days. I will not claim mine more special than yours. It's just mine.
I was lousy all day yesterday. I took two naps and never really woke up. I had dinner with my mother in the late afternoon, but I was a zombie and brought not much joy to the party. I got back to my house just before the Super Bowl began. And I watched it. All of it but for the halftime show. All four friggin hours of it. It was a good game between commercials. I don't think I'll ever watch one again. All the jingles and stupidity wore me out bad. That is America, I guess, home of the mind-fucked and land of the trivial. But the whole thing is, isn't it? Trivial, I mean. All around the globe, athletes are paid millions and millions to play games that are no longer games but something much more. Parents around the world want their kids to grow up to be rich athletes. Lofty goals.
But there is no doubt that money has made them better. They are stellar. And so we watch millionaires play games while we look on. And watch advertisements and halftime shows. And comment on social media. . . because, you know. . . we can.
"Bad call, ref! HORRIBLE! The game is rigged for sure!!!"
Oh, wait . . . the offending player says he did it. Whatever.
I was pulling for the red jerseys.
I'm going back to watching the "Brain Bowl." Oh. . . they don't have that any more? What? "Family Feud"?!?!? No. . . no. . . . .
Much of my mood comes from my inability to walk more than a few yards without some pretty bad pain. I want to travel, but what would be the use in traveling if I can't walk? Never in my life did I imagine that I wouldn't be able to walk. Run, sure. . . maybe. But walk? This is bad.
I hope they call me for my gel shot this week.
I tried making more music. I'm still trying to figure the program out. But there is a bigger problem than that. Sure, taking up a room with boxes and cables is one, but it ain't THE one. Talent. There's one that is hard to overcome.
Maybe I'll start hating music, too, the way I do the Super Bowl. Can't run, can't sing. . . what's left?
Just being a gripe on a blog, I reckon.
I took that photo at the turn of the century. That is what my street looked like then. It doesn't look like that now. Hurricanes have wrecked the trees and cars now line the street. Sometimes it is dangerous to look back.
Comes a time, however. . . .
I just gotta be able to walk.