FRIDAY PART I
The past week has been an amalgamation of appointments, house duties, dad duties, holiday prep, dog care, and goofing off from the seat of my comfy chair while shoving handfuls of vitamin D down my throat and watching the last hints of summer tan drain away from my skin to leave it looking like the surface of a thrice-used teabag.
There is a special time in man’s life when he reaches a crossroad; one direction means that his life will stay exactly the same. While the other direction will have his life staying exactly the same, except he wasted time writing a blog post that no one—not even himself—will should read. For most of the past week, I have taken the first route. Today, I take the path of increased time waste. Apparently I have some time, and it needs wasting.
I’ve read and heard that saying my entire life and never really thought much about it. Until I actually tried teaching an old dog new tricks. Literally and figuratively.
I promise, PROMISE! that this post will be under 3,000 words. Because, as the long forgotten prophet Sweet Brown exclaimed as she fled the fiery flames cast upon her dwelling by Satan’s Bronchial Demons, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
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.
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.
This week started off HORRIBLE, but progressively got better-ish. Still, I’m glad to see it almost over.
Having a plan on Friday proved useless, so I entered Saturday planless and brainless. In other words, it was just me being me.
I was up around 8 for coffee, toast, and a couple of dippy eggs before lubing up Mr. Burgundy (not code for sex) and getting my shit together for a quick ride in the rapidly warming morning sun.
Some say that the best plan is not having a plan at all. Hmmmm….
Say what you want about the necessity, value, and quality of the—went on a bit too long—Soiled Chamois mini-shit show entitled The Quarantine Chronicles, it motivated me to write. Now, not so much.
