She was restless and scratching all night. It's not uncommon. Her skin is her enemy. It consumes her in fits and starts. This morning it was angry and inflamed. Nothing to do for her really but cover her in lotion and say a quick prayer. Funny I never pray for people. I don't pray for myself. She's another story. There must be a god for dogs. They're too kind and good. They deserve a god. They deserve protection. Jane deserves more.
It's funny to think (swift left on an ADD moment) that the bulk of my life story has been typed out with my thumbs on a touch screen device. Standing on a train platform and tapping. Tapping. Rapping? How much of anyone's life is spent in transit? In stations, on trains or buses or planes? In airport lounges? The Nutty Professor's entire memoir was set in transit. In the spaces of time between places. Clever one she is, if stuck in pursuit of something she may not be able to see. Mired in a blind spot. She seems to have the hindsight bit down pat though, but that might be said about many of us. Things look so clear when we look behind us. Then we turn to move forward and walk face-first into a wall.
Insert loud smack sound here.
I do wish her the best. I am no longer angry at her for telling me the truth, even if her motivation was selfish. It seemed mean at the time. Now it's obvious it was a gift I wish I had opened and used sooner. It sat on the shelf gathering dust for a long while. One day I will go into more detail of what that mean truth was. For now...
There is plenty of other time to write but I end up in digital rabbit holes. The intertoobz is the new drug, isn't it. I can choose left or right but never forward. It's left or right with the only variation factored by the weightless drift of digital space. It's not quite like going in circles even if you always end up in the same place. You get to see some shit for sure, but the end is the same. An empty page and a realization that the alarm is going to ring in a few hours and sweet fuck all has been done. Those photos from Art Basel Miami sure were cool though!
One might think with all the time these last few years spent functionally unemployed... but let's not follow yet another alley into self-flagellation. Image of me in some semi-modern s&m leather scene, red welts, sweat and grime... you spend too much time on the web, MacGregor. Too much!
Insert whip-cracking sound here...
Probably best to sign off for now.