THE CALM ARRIVED AND DAMN DOES IT FEEL AHHHHRRRR

In the morning a friend with long hair and bright eyes shares a Facebook post. Says something New Agey. I read it. “We look to others to legitimize ourselves.” Do we ever. I know I do. Ram Dass says we all do. Does he know from experience? 

I feel like I’m searching for a way out. The exit. The end of self doubt. The end of uncertainty. I want a short cut. A door like the one in Narnia. But what would be on the other side? The lady from the TED Talk says death is the only place where the floor is certain stillness. But still. I keep writing each day like I can scrape together some Scrabble letters and put them together in a string that I could hammer my fingers on like a bass guitar ba bam bam bam bam. 

Ba bam bam. 

Two girls wait in line for coffee. I’m going to get up soon and order a small coffee. Probably it will make me jittery. But hey. 

The Calm arrived. It’s like a PVC pipe 12’’’ in diameter. Bend backwards over it. Fold yourself the opposite way. Undo. The dog barked at the FedEx man. 

At the pool, James was sour. Market is down 6%, he said. Even when he’s sour, he’s sweet. 

I need to wash the dishes more thoroughly. Not leave scraps hanging on. This has been a reoccurring marital matter. Is matter a euphemism for conflict? Is all matter in a state of conflict. Think positively. My mind is elsewhere. Podcast. Write. Teach. Podcast. Joe Rogan. 

Dishes. Need. To. Be. Cleaner. This is a reoccurring conflict. Different standards of cleanliness, I say. No, Kate says. I say okay. We are improving in the communication department. Slowly. Not leaving the room. Not yelling. Not cursing. We are improving. 

PB on toast is so fucking good, I don’t care how Paleo you are. Ezekiel sprouted grain English muffins. Still wheat, but sprouted. Easily digestible. Complete protein. Mmm. Spread with chunky Santa Cruz peanut butter. Argmmmm. Easily vying for day’s high point. 

>>>NOTE TO THE READER RA RA RIOT RACING ONTO THE NEXT THING: Lol I feel ya. This is the part and place where I ask for your money. This is where I dress up a doll in a organic overalls and preach something about how donating = supporting. Or put a cute picture of Ellie playing with a stuffed monkey and I see hey help a brother out. Round off the fundraiser with some churchy chow about how it’ll all karma come back to ya. But fuck it. You already know. How much pretense can we drop? How much fakery can we opt-out of? If you’re inclined to support, check out patreon.com/altdaddiary for details. 

P.P.S. In other news. The Alt Dad Diary has recently been inspired to make some changes. In addition to scrubbing those porcelain bowls till they sparkle, I’m going to start work on a book. I’m not sure what the book will cover, but it’s been a year since I’ve worked on a book-length project and I want to engage this 3-D physical thing that travels out into the world—notwithstanding the irony that most book sales are digital copies of ebooks for Kindle and other devices. So stay tuned for that. It’s something I’m excited about. 

P.P.P.S. This post isn't paid for by the Calm roller. Calm didn't pay me or ship me free swag. I paid the full $16.69 for that little back roller. Worth every penny too 

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