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Recent Me, Macro Monday

I would love to use a phrase like “I’m back to my old self again,” but not only would that be incorrect, it would also be a less than desirable outcome. Old me is a jagoff. At least I thought so; I think “recent” me (past few years) is in a way better place than old me.

However, in the context of how I feel mentally compared to this time last week, and to my month-long flirtation with the 0.1 lifestyle, I am indeed getting back to my old self again. Still a jagoff in my own way, but that—along with my AutoZone guy/dad on a beer bender physique and sophomoric, rapier wit— is part of my unique charm, right? RIGHT?? OK, forget it.

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First Dystopian Match

It seems that the allegorical tale of near drunken death and breast ogling aboard the RMS Titanic was met with less than stellar reviews from my wife. I believe the term she used was, “It was a bit much.” Sigh.

I’m not one to argue with a reviewer, but I think she missed the story’s silver lining, which pointed out that no matter how bad things seem to be, they can sort of maybe work out. But first, a bunch of people are going to die.

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Sort of

This week has been a rollercoaster shit show of good days, bad days, a swell 49th birthday, COVID angst, life angst, adulting, a crap walk in the woods that yielded not one photo I liked, a somewhat OK ride south of town, and a few hours at the shop.

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