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Wednesday, Apr. 07, 2004
Sometimes I wonder why I use the approach of a word processor to write anything Ė and others times it is explicitly clear to me. That it is the right way to go.

Has nothing to do with spelling. Grammar. Structure.

Has a good deal to do with eliminating crap. Often times Iíll babble unconsciously at a morose looking keyboard and have nothing conscious on screen. At the, you know, end of the babble. Itís crap.

Other times, itís just not worth sharing. The babble. Itís just not.

This probably isnít an exception.

I drink too much. Itís all beer, but itís too much. Much too much.

I also spend an inequitable amount of time doing so. I havenít done much of it today, and none yesterday, but you get the picture. Itís an old story. I once had a therapist (not my own, b the way, I donít espouse tinkering of the gray matter) who asked of me ďHow many beers do you drink?Ē And I replied 6! ďSix,Ē she asked doubtfully, ďSix in one day?Ē She seemed incredulous.

Nope. Six in one hour. When the occasion suits. I have many occasions, you see. I also continue to beat my dog and cause mayhem at local zoological institutes when the moon is full.

I donít fix stuff around the house. You know, stuff, the stuff that I do all day long. Windows, exterior trim, doors, paint. I come home, up until last week it was dark. Exterior trim. Yes, I see.

I leave home at 5:45 am every weekday. I drive for an hour. Stu and I work 8 hours in one of the harshest climates on the East Coast, we work in an area noted for wind and sand and generally bleak conditions. Letís put it this way. It can be terrifically cold Ė in July. I endure the pithiest, most teeth grinding of work conditions I have ever endured in my life in terms of political and relational experiences. I then drive an hour home. Excepting a stop at the Watering Hole. It happens. Every day.

I make about the same money I did 5 years ago. Itís not a kingís ransom. It is also not poverty. It is not nearly so.

Last fall my eldest daughter moved out of the house and into a relationship with a lesbian. Which, you could infer, makes her a lesbian too. She is now regretting that decision. I sit and wait on that one.

Last fall the company I dreamed up and formed a partnership over fell, indirectly, into the hands of other people. Iíve ranted on this for enough time now that it becomes tiresome to even lend another thought to it. Stu voiced the most understated factoid in the history of our business world the other day when he murmured, ďYou know, it seemed like we had a lot more fun when we were just slinging wood trim and hanging cabinets. We used to fish.Ē

Indeed we did. And indeedy, it took Stu about three months longer than I thought it would before he came to that conclusion. Which unfortunately was about eight months after I did.

My dad died eight weeks ago.

My son and other daughter have both had a similar problem in the last few months. And without getting real pointed about it, letís just say that itís a big problem. A gray hair thing. And I hate it. I hate what it is and what it has done.

Letís see. Have I left anything out?

1. Drinking

2. House falling apart

3. Kids are semi-screwed up

4. Work / business is fucked

5. Dad died

6. Not making enough money

Yep. Thatís about it.

That ought to be just enough violations for my wife to start hinting at the divorce thing. Again. Told me sheís had enough. Enough of my crap.

Itís crap that drives us to use the word processor. It well and surely is. It is vindictiveness, it is ugly.

A woman sung about a conceptual prayer once. I liked the phrase enough to consider offering a concept of my own, and a prayer to boot. It goes like this.

I would like to be the one folk think of when the phrase Ė ďHe retired and lived quietly until his demiseĒ Ė is uttered. I think Iíd really like that.

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