somewhere the sky seems like a blanket

Sit around, dream away the place I’m from


it's not fair, growing up, thinking you're special.  but fuck that.  can't blame childhood,  mine was so ideal it makes me sick to see how my own nieces and nephews are being raised.  not that i'm such a great role model...


I could go out tonight, but I ain’t sure what for
Call a friend or two I don’t know anymore


I'm avoiding everything these days.  Friends, family, contacts, even remote interests that come out of nowhere because I have my resume up on MonsterCareerbuilerderHeyGiveMeYourResumeLetsGetSomeTimeTogether.com.


But I just don't care any more.  I like to say the pressure is on but I Just Don't Care.


And this is what I'm truly afraid of, this not caring.  I'm doing a minor favor to a former GM right now where I'm providing my history as well as how my staff and I worked with him.  And while it's getting me to actually do something, I still don't care.  I just don't care.


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Gonna ride down to the river where it runs


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I did a hike out into the woods the last week.  It was a revitalization but at the same time I just felt like it was all for naught, as I just wanted to keep on going, Go West Young Man!!!


Crossed a creek, more like a stream, on a felled tree and then...the other side was ferns.  Odd.  I've learned, from hiking in SD that you have to look back where you came from, otherwise you get lost (funny how the obvious escapes us sometimes).


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Gonna watch TV and pray for decent reruns
Sit around and dream away what I’ve become
Used to feel so much, now I just feel dumb


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I made my way back simply because I remembered a particular branch that was broken on a tall tree.  I'm not much of a tracker or scout.  And then I couldn't get out of bed for the next three days.  Not because of tiredness, because...lack of purpose.


It's sad that I can tell if I've seen an episode of Law & Order or House based upon a one line summation on DirectTV.  


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I’ll never understand this emptiness


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I did a minor spending spree on Amazon (will this still be a thing in 20 years?  I'm amazed that I can still access my LJ account...).  Bought a few books, some I've never read, some just for the comfort factor.  Aside from the first novel a friend of mine finally published, I'm revisiting a few authors I've forgotten over the years.  Kim Stanley Robinson, Lucius Shepard, and of course Paul Theroux.  


I like the written word.  As much as I like the computer and the online crap, I like the solidity of a good book.  I'll never understand the Nook/Kindle/CRAP where you can read on basically a laptop.  I like the heft of paper in my hands.  It feels good.  It feels real.


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Write your name down on a matchbook sleeve.


Call me up on Sunday for a drink...


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Ya know the fun thing about this is that I turned it all around in all of seven paragraphs, and short ones also.  Maybe I really do just need to write it out of me, no matter how bad it is sometimes (see also:  unpublished posts).  Back hurts, going to bed finally.