Friday, August 12, 2016


What's it come to when you're down to nothing to talk about but the weather?

Heat advisory.

Heat index.

It's just hot.

There are places it's like this all the time.  Those are the places that malaria comes from, and dengue fever and the zika virus.


They export tropical viruses and we export carcinogens.  Either way, but we sure don't want to get into a quality of life argument, or certainly not a discussion of morals.

Forget the drama though.  It's just hot.  I wasn't wired for this.  Who is though?  I spent the night lying on a mattress that felt like a damp sponge.

Okay, so that's tacky and juvenile, but sue me.  Wet sheets and pillows don't make for the best night of sleep and sleep is hard enough to come buy anyway.  You can imagine the shape it's left me in this morning.  It occurred to me at 5 am, out walking the beast, that it might have been a better night somewhere deep in the park.  It was about 10 degrees cooler under the trees and no less... no less moist.

I'm feeling "some kinda way" again lately.  One might imagine if they read my digital vanity regularly that "some kinda way" is the perpetual state of affairs, and there is probably some truth to that.  Some days are a little more intense than others though.  Some are a lot more intense.  The last few weeks fall under moderately more intense, and maybe that can be attributed to the weather.  Things aren't really any worse than in the last 8 months, and some are actually better.  But still...

Restless, Irritable & Discontent.


That's what the Crocodiles would call it, and they would attribute it not to the weather but to my spiritual condition, or even my personal connection to a higher power.  I'm not exactly in a position to refute any of that stuff, so we'll just leave it at that.

I would say a lot of it has to do with laser and focus and clarity and a (finally) profound understanding of the work ahead to get clear, and no small amount of self-doubt.  Am I really up for the task?  There aren't really other options.  The fear is there though.


Fuck Everything And Run

Face Everything And Recover?

Cute, no?  The Crocodiles are full of this stuff.  Full of something.  They're doing it though, for the most part so again, who am I to argue at this point?  I'm just a mindfucked middle-ager on a moist mattress, with a scabby pitbull, a collection of obscure music, and a pile of wreckage to sift through.  

There are other things nagging at me, not the least of which is the current condition of a friendship that has become... strained, for lack of a better word.  I definitely understand my part in it, but I'm not without a major resentment as well.  I'm having problems visualizing the friendship moving forward without some kind of reciprocal acknowledgement of fault.  I can clean up my side of the street and then stand there in the middle waiting for what I feel is another inevitable slap.  There has to be some manner of understanding of why I feel hurt.  It's not a blame game so much as... I don't know.  The situation has left a hole in my life and maybe it's a hole that cannot be filled.  Maybe I have to move on and let it go.  (I'm not trying to be cryptic but there are people with whom I feel I need permission to discuss, like it could be a breach of trust.  There are still people I protect.)  So there is a sense of loss nagging at me, and maybe that didn't begin with recent incidents.  Maybe it starter before that and that's where the resentments began.  Another possibility to sweat out as I move forward.

And as I rise up out of the damp sponge to begin the routine that keeps me level, I have to also acknowledge "blessings."  That's what the Crocodiles call the other side of the inventory.  There are people and events in my life that certainly populate that column.  There are black entries in my ledger and plenty of them.  

Thank you.  

But this other stuff... the sweat.  


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