So it is pushing 8am and I am just noticing I played Windows 10 Solitaire games all night. I still have not gotten back into the blogging habit. I am not sure I want to continue the same way I've been blogging for years, or is that for the last six months or so? The two-step blog thing, remember? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?
Whatever, here are the words, read 'em and weep. Or don't. I'm in an odder weirder than usual mood this morning so you'll just have to skip right past this entry if you are a normal person who does not get the joke cuz otherwise you very well might be offended somewhere along the way.
Warning: Parental Guidance. This entry may contain explicit lyrics or some such nonsense that you've been taught to take offense at and you don't even really know why because it is not logical, but you'll do it anyway unless you've stepped out of the box in which case feel free to disregard this warning.
Don't castrate the children, please!.
Now where were we? Ah yes, returning to the fold, or folder, perhaps. if you were around at the beginning (and I don't mean online, I mean the beginning of the writings), you may have heard of the Scattered Pages Folder also known as Book 1. There were several hundred books in those pre-internet writing days (actually, mostly nights) and by all logical rational reason, there ought to have been a Book 1. It was a folder, actually, of all the scribbles and dribbles and writings I did from the first time I could remember. You may already know about the tragedy of the parental units throwing out everything I called my childhood while I was running away to the army, but some of those scattered pages stayed with me (as opposed to being hermetically sealed and stored in the basement corner in boxes labelled clearly "MY STUFF" (MY being my name) as my precious childhood stuff (writings, books, comics, music, games, and so much more). I still remember the trauma of finding them gone and hearing "oh, we gave that away." We went for family counseling and psychologist could not believe they saw nothing wrong with tossing my childhood out in the trash. "Or maybe we gave it to goodwill, we don't remember." Fuck those insensitive people.
Ok, there's an old scar still itching, no doubt. That was representative of childhood as I knew it and why I remain simultaneously unattached to anything in this world and a pathological long distance hoarder as if someday someone will actually care to know the stories and secrets and emotions represented by every little thing I refuse to let go of. Jane brings up my storage stuff now and then and she seems to get excited about going to get the stuff, but the cost of storage down here would be ridiculous. The cost is ridiculous anyway, but that's the wayward life of extravagant detachment I've forged out of nothing.
So I played games all night and now lasagna cooks in the microwave and I really want to sleep but I don't know if Curly is coming by or not. He can wake me. I just hope my sleeping through the day and being groggy does not upset him. I am still not sure just what triggered his text-rant, so I am cautious with him for now. He's a beautiful child inside as are all of the few I've adopted as family along the way. He has some PTSD and conflicts inside that seldom come to the surface because he does his best to be a happy positive person and enjoy life and represses a lot. That may have been one of the reasons his three marriages did not last long, though he didn't choose wisely the third time. I am in a lazy-bum phase, as the older generation might call it, and I am hoping that doesn't upset him.
The world just doesn't get me, ya know?
I miss Jackson a lot on mornings like this. She was always so tolerant of my madness. The fact that I paid almost all of the bills might have helped. Ah, cynical as ever. I miss having a best friend close by in my daily life. On the other hand, I love not wearing clothing again. I wore a T-shirt and boxers out of respect for her normalcy, but I much prefer to be without clothing when I am lounging around at home. Especially now, without air-conditioning.
So I now have more than a month to catch up on. If you recall, at least so far, I left the time gap between the (e)thereal daily blog and the new two-step blog you are currently reading (I have such high hopes, don't I?) rather fallow (or is that hollow?), ya falla? (still quoting that silly movie line, huh?), but I have little intention of doing that for this new two-phase blog so any day now there's gonna be a whole lotta entries going on.
Still, with relative punctuation as opposed to the endless ellipses of the babbler.
Losing interest, losing focus
Losing out to hocus pocus
Can I interest you in a nice ripe watermelon?
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