It’s been a while since I last threw anything up on these digital pages, so here you go.
Archive | Random
Empty Nests, Creeps, & Sharks
The first week of Empty Nest Syndrome was everything I expected it to be and more. And by that, I mean that I had all the expected symptoms of missing B, but because Jason gotta Jason, I also threw in a few days of malaise, regret, self-loathing, ennui, self-flagellation (not the good kind), and learning to talk in the third person as I come to grips with now being what can only be described as virtually useless to society. I’m not sure why I needed my son to start college to point out the obvious again, but here we are.
Digressing
I’ve been laying low on the posting as of late, mostly because I’ve done even less than I normally do. Sure, I made it to the gym a few times, but who cares if an aging, fat white dude goes to the gym or not? Actually, who cares if an aging, fat white dude does anything? I digress.
After a week filled with back spasms and shoulder issues, the next week greeted me with more bad luck and a slight summer head cold, followed a few days later by what I can only imagine was food poisoning; all I know is that my body felt like it was trying to expel a feces-covered demon via my intestinal track for 8 hours. I continue to digress.
Pops and Spasms
“Nothing makes you feel old like being old.” – Old Man
After Wednesday’s 5-mile hike at Deerfield (my second within a few days), I was feeling pretty good about myself. “So what if I’m older, fatter, and ‘on a break’ from my bike? I can still push myself and have fun in the woods in other ways,” I thought as I drove home.
One Eared Negativity
Last week was a pretty sweet week of “doing stuff.” It contained multiple trips to the gym to lift heavy things for no reason and nearly 20 miles of hiking and creeping around the woods with my camera.
Then there’s this week.
Birds, Bees, & Pulled Pork
This post comes to you with all the enthusiasm of a blind man entering a strip club. Of course, based on some of the strip clubs I’ve unfortunately been in during the early “bachelor party days” of my life (looking at you, Hi-Way Playground in Washington County, PA, circa 1996 with your free stage-side pizza), that’s probably a good thing. I digress.
Sweaty Cargo Shorts
In all my 17+ years of writing this shit-show, I finally find myself with a bit of writer’s block. Whilst the masses rejoice in knowing they are safe from my long-winded posts of sophomoric humor, tales of self-loathing, sub-par chubby middle-aged white guy pseudo adventures, and nonsensical word salad, I bemoan my stifled mind.
Things Al Said
Like Al Camus (not that one, the Al Camus that works at Marty’s Bar washing dishes) once said, “sometimes you have to look over your shoulder before you can fail.” And that, my friends, is why I am here today.
Fruits of Thy Creeping
The past couple of weeks have been a blur of keeping up with B’s last days as a high school senior and his last weeks of club soccer. Somewhere between all that stuff, I’ve been at the gym 3 to 4 times a week, taking care of the springtime needs of the Cul De Sac Shack and getting out for some creeps around the woods, stalking birds and other critters with my camera.
Unfuzzyness
You may or may not remember the issues with my vision that sent me to my eye doctor a few weeks ago, where I was diagnosed with cataracts and sent to see an eye surgeon to get shit rolling for surgery this summer. Well, the appointment with the surgeon was this morning, and after a bunch of tests, it turns out I do NOT have cataracts but was suffering from a dry eye episode that was causing the blurred vision and light sensitivity.