Friday, February 17, 2023


I think I'm done with people for awhile.  Nothing traumatic.  I just don't get a kick out of most of them.  I met up with a few of the gymroids last night.  I was pretty miserable.  The conversation was loud and dumb and nothing I wished to keep up with.  My mind drifted.  When they howled with laughter, I painfully grinned.  I wanted to go home.  And when they all suggested moving to the next place, that is exactly what I did.  

"I'm a hippie," I say.  "I like everyone."  Which is not quite true.  I think I dislike everyone equally.  No, that's not true, either.  

I simply prefer more intimate things.  When I tire of being alone, it is not that I wish to rush out and join the masses or even a smart group.  I just long for intimacy and the arms of. . . you know the rest.  

On waking this morning, I knew I was ready to go back to my more monkish existence.  It is warm here now, and I don't think we are going to get another freeze (though you never know).  I need to put some pre-emergent on the lawn.  I need to dig up the gnarly old garden and prepare the soil.  At my mother's house, too.  Trips to the nursery.  Two weeks later, weed killer.  Then in March, fertilizer.  That much I know, but I will need to pull weeds, too.  And soon it will be time to mulch again.  I know, right?  It seems I just did that.  And I will scrub and repaint the deck before it gets too hot.  I need to do the apartment stairs, too.  

I will renew my mainly vegetarian diet and, perhaps, I will join a yoga class.  

I think all of that and then my knee begins to throb.  There's a problem I will have to solve first.  

But none of that requires the hoi-polloi.  I wish I could take long walks alone.  

But all of that, even the knee thing, would be better with. . . . 

I need to gather my tax documents together, too.  I hope I have them all/saved them all.  It is unlikely.  I will spend hours trying to gather all the information I need.  Seriously, I need a keeper.  I am amazed by organized people.  How do they do it?  How do they stay focussed?  My mind is busy playing in the outer spaces.  

I never quite grew up, I guess.  As an only child in the country, I had to rely on my imagination.  In all other ways, I was pampered and spoiled.  All that was required of me was that I be "special."  I never even learned to make my bed.  I can't clean a counter for shit. I am astonished by people who can keep things at proper angles.  As I write that, I look around at the hodgepodge I call home.  

I think that maybe I'm just lazy.  

These fuckers with their McLaren's and their country club memberships and their beach houses. . . yea, I'm probably just lazy.  Or worse.  

O.K. I am distracted.  Apple just sent me an update on Bruce Willis' condition.  My computer dinged and a banner shot across the top of the screen.  This is what Apple thinks I need to know?  

I sent no news clippings to anyone this morning.  I'll take that as a sign.  

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