Soup’s On! Again

I’m Not a Vegan Creamy Vegan Tomato Soup with bread and vegan butter.

I visit you all here again with tales of wonderment, awe, and spectacular deeds done atop my bicycle!! No, not really. Not at all. But there’s soup! And pictures of my kid playing soccer!! The two main ingredients in any great crap—dare I say legendary infamous—cycling blog.

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Burnt Chowders & Dead Robots

You know that run of mojo-less energy I’ve been experiencing the past couple of months? Well, it’s still ruling me like a jackbooted Machiavellian swine. Additionally, the Trump-fueled, COVID enhanced, Great American Dumpster Fire continues to flame on like happy hour at the Bottoms Up Club. Despite my best efforts to ignore it all and to bury myself in creative pursuits and attempts at physical, mental, and philosophical betterment, my mind continues to alternate between simmering like an unattended vegetarian chowder on life’s back burner and shutting down like a Westworld host with a fried motherboard.

Having said that, somewhere between all the hyperbolic burnt chowders and dead robots of my mind, I managed to go outside and walk around the woods a bit on Tuesday.

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Captured and Muted

Going to take a second to look back at my week.

*less than one second later*

OK, that’s done.

The week had some of this, and some of that. Some of it good, a lot of it bad, but there is no use looking back, or dwelling, on all the unlistenable art house jazz of life (look at me starting to use some of the Stoic knowledge that Bill Irvine is dropping on me in his book, A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy.

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I Still Don’t Know

I fully admit that there was a moment when I had no idea what day it was when I woke up this morning. I thought I was over that part of our little 8 month long and counting worldwide pandemic, but alas—nay.

When that bit of momentary memory loss passed I rubbed my eyes, farted, yawned, and said, “Wednesday. It’s Wednesday. Wednesday, how the fuck did we get here?”

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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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Proved Wrong, Again

On Saturday, I actually surprised myself. No, I didn’t finally eat that 30 piece party tray pizza from Gluttonz Pizza®. I said I might ride, confessed that it probably wouldn’t happen, and then I rode.

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Between Bookends

NOTE OF HINDSIGHT: For what it’s worth, this post was written during a particularly difficult mood. The  following text here underlines that mood. Sorry.

It’s 9:40 AM on a Monday morning. I should be at work, but I alas, I ain’t gots no (real) job due to my less than stellar educational history, now redundant early 90s design skills, geographic locale, lack of employable talents, and no man’s land age. [See Underemployed, Being on the About page]

No, I am sitting in front of a computer writing this stuff. I have no idea what I’m about to write, but I need to vomit up some sort of verbiage in hopes of convincing myself to ride my bike. An activity—outside of a 13-mile rail-trail ride and a 30-minute Zwift™ session— I have not done in almost a month.

Why, you ask? Fuck, I don’t know.

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