Sauce Simmering, I Have A Manic Realization Listening To Modest Mouse

The spaghetti sauce is simmering. Modest Mouse on the speakers. Not sure what song. But damn I feel so much momentum. I’ve been computer staring, power pecking for the last week straight and then dog running, swim swimming, deep breath yoga, more dog dog dog. And I feel so much momentum. Finally. Maybe I’m manic.

I wore my black fitted baseball cap today maybe that’s why. Look good, feel good. You know what I mean? I walked back from yoga today and I was wearing all black, and I was like yeah, black’s my color. A month ago I thought blue was my color. The whole time my gut told me black but I was like nooooo can’t be because that’s a depressing sad gothic color but then walking from yoga I was like whatever I feel good, it’s my color.

So much momentum once you stop resisting. Once you accept. They say that but it’s misleading because you don’t know what acceptance feels like unless you resist resist resist for so many days. Like acceptance only means something if there was resistance. And I’ve been resisting so much that tonight I woke up and the sauce is simmering and it feels like I was blind the whole dreary last two months and when modest mouse came on the blindness went away, like all of a sudden the all powerful all mighty gods lasiked the hell out of my rusty retinas.


Too much Instagram, YouTube, Facebook. That’s part of the iron oxidation. The overwhelm is necessary because social media is necessary now. Apparently. But I’ve been pulling my centimeter hair out for the past week, month. Trying trying trying to be king of the hill. And finally I don’t know what happened today. Mud everywhere, fingers swollen. I’ve been digging trying to get out, and now I’m just like fuck it I’m hear let’s sweat dance rap roll write.

The magic is plugging the mic and plow plowing when nobody’s watching. Just for shit kicks. That’s when you know you’re crazy and when you’re crazy you know you’re honest and when you’re crazy and honest it feels for a split second when modest mouse is playing like you’re finally free of the straight jacket. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation that’s doing this to me. Or maybe Paleo’s purging all those toxins. Maybe this is what human existence feels like without corn syrup and high fructose corn syrup and sodium nitrate and soy lechitin and all that bear scat.

Moving on. Warnings about alcoholism relapse do not fall on deaf ears. I hear ya loud and clear. But I’ve never been one for warnings you know? No matter how well intentioned. It’s not ego, it’s strong self belief. I think there’s a difference.

My heart is in my fingers and my fingers are key stomping. Maybe it’s all this chasing the dog around. He wanted a right-before-dinner walk but I was tired. But he was out there barking and we’ve spent so much time together without any other human interaction, I know he’s barking for me. So I put my shoes on and chase him. He goes to one side of the detached garage and I go to the other, and then we meet on the other end, and we keep going, round and round, round and round. We’re both panting, and he’s fast, but I’m fast too. He likes it. And deep down I do too.

The sauce is simmering on the stove. I’m not even hungry but last night I woke up starving so eat I will.

💥😎🧢☘️<<If The Alt Dad Diary galumphs your gut biome, by all means tell Siri to navigate your starship to Which is the galaxy portal where you can show your appreciation for this fine literary fidgeting. Support, support, support. The yogis say universal laws you can't see or touch or smell will catapult karma right back to you. But honestly it does mean a lot for a writer to make a living doing what he loves so goddamn much. And I bloody love this.