Well now! one of the many reasons I keep putting off writing this damned article, or whatever we want to call it, is access to a computer: sharing this laptop with my wife, working from home, and two teenagers still doing their work for high school, even though they have their own Chromebooks provided by the school, with all their academic work over the years on Google documents why are we just now worrying about some tech company having access to all our personal data? Oh, I see, Google was politically correct at the time, so no one wondered at giant computer banks decoding the processes by which human learning itself takes place...as I give them another two cents on this blog, same folks at Google, and go tell the current owner of The App Formerly Known As Twitter, or TAFKAT (but I forget these days you have to explain to young folks that partying like it's 1999 meant partying as if it were the end of the world, some distant and impossible-to-reach asymptote of a future, not a quaint pastoral age of well-fed burghers without even text messaging or trigger words) all my personal and political sensitivities...but I'm rambling now, intoxicated with the rare chance to caress these tiny little square keys; gettin' em' clackin' really turns me on in the morning.
So, though, does a cup o' Joe. N' I haven't had any since Wednesday morning.
Ash Wednesday.
I've never been a good Catholic (in fact I was brought up to worship the Devil) but lately I've been trying, despite Nietzsche's advice, and so I'm giving up meat and alcohol (Fritz would approve of that) but also trying not to drink so much coffee and cream, and as luck would have it we ran out and I was too stoned to remember to pick up some more at the grocery store yesterday...which brings me to the third cause of chronic procrastination...
Well now! it's Friday and I'm gonna go smoke another bowl outside, if the wind doesn't take it all. I can hear it howling out there...I'll be back in a minute to explain what all the above confusion is intended to signify, and see if we can get you a MPH on those wind gusts (courtesy of our friends at Google)
Sorry, introductions are always hardest...I get way too excited, then try to say everything all at once, and get ahead of myself, or behind, or sometimes turned around. One thing I've learned after all these years is that Two wrongs don't make a right: but Three lefts do. Chew on that for a while. So anyway I opened the laptop this morning, finally having the energy somehow without caffeine to start churning out this gibberish you kids read on the internet these days (but at least you're reading and not just watching YouTube videos) and my son's essay was open, and I realize I have nothing to worry about because we already taught our kids to be such great writers, and they really impress me sometimes...on the other hand, a teenaged boy's ability to disregard all logic and commonsense and deliberately flout the psychic conventions of modern speech can be cause for concern...I was so much more impractical myself, though, and look where I am now: still breaking my back at a grocery store at the age of 40 and giving away my words for free, because I have no agent, no publisher, no reading public, no fan club or even sympathetic bunch of cheerleaders recruited from friends and family because I'm a grumpy old Steppenwolf who would never suffer to ask a favor unless it was for his wife and kids. And so I commence this piece of language to communicate my desire for the post of Chief Bard or Poet Laureate or, gulp, I suppose Official Rhymer of the Tyrant? Pretty, pretty please? Introducing the Resume of a Writer. I'm gonna have some tea now, while I get my thoughts together; and perhaps smoke some more weed. Oh, yeah: The winds were 24 miles per hour, bearing down on us from across the Great Lakes to the northeast.
My back hurts and I want to call out from work today. Of course sitting here typing isn't doing my back any favors either, and my wife'll commandeer the laptop in another 45 minutes anyway---oh look, a wind advisory just popped up on the bottom of the computer. It's a thirty minute walk to work and the winds get even crazier when you cross the train tracks---I've lost at least one good umbrella there on a rainy day. I need to start looking for another job---but every time I mean to get started, I lean on the same tired excuse: someone else is using the computer and I need to update my resume. I got to thinking if I ever did get some time to work on that resume, to look for some other shitty retail job or at best another clerk position with the City, I might as well take the time to write down the Resume of a Writer...oof, when you say it like that it sounds more like an epitaph.
Especially since, now that I successfully called out from work, I am officially calling out from writing today as well. You suckers have a nice weekend.
