We’re all just here. Do you ever get inadequate sleep at night, have a no-coffee morning and stare at the black face of the kitchen oven and think “we’re all just here.” Like this rock in space spinning. Doing stuff is of no consequence except to ourselves. Small ego dust mind.
The baby will walk soon. I’ve caught glimpses of her standing, no hands.
Look. Listen. Run.
The green lawn chair in the kitchen is all that’s keeping me off the ground. Tomorrow the running calendar says OFF. The next day is a long run. Kate said it’s nice to be training for something. More nutritional yeast. More baths. Add in Epsom salt.
Today is graduation but you have to pay for the cape and pay to walk across the stage. I’ll spend the money elsewhere. We’re buying food grade stainless steel water bottles. No more plastic. Even if it says BPA free, studies show that toxins leech into the water.
China spits in the US drinking water.
Running first thing in the morning is stiff and ugh and I feel old and oh bend down and the knees crack. The Merrell gloves mean my feet can feel the roots rocks and ooh, like tiptoeing on coals. The Altra shoes said yesterday was guaranteed delivery on Amazon. But yesterday came and went and still no shoes. Guarantees just aren’t what they used to be.
The beets are sitting on the counter. Pale colored. A curious cross between apple red and pumpkin orange.
I still have that tattoo that I want to give myself. Left bicep. Red line. Orange triangle. Something weird and non contextual.
I’m going to start a poetry project soon. In the spirit of projects increase productivity and the feeling of purpose.
I keep googling jobs. Adult education. Alternative school. Substitute teaching. Herbal apprentice. Paid. Okay unpaid. How do you grow your own mushrooms? How do you buy land?
The broccoli sprouts I started watering three days ago will be ready to eat tonight. There is just eating and sleeping and running. Kate and I are going to record a podcast soon. Maybe today. That would be fun. Stay tuned for that. And I’m working on other projects. Books. Ballistic books. Not regular blah blah bedtime bam books. But really banging bullshit with bump book book.
The existential crisis continues. The CBD oil didn’t put me to sleep like I thought. In fact I think it kept me up. I took 7 more droplets. Thoughts winding like a spool of thread that’s dropped on the fake wood floor, winding all over the damn place.
I want to thank the few of you for reading. The few the proud the elite.
This one woman Abby Martin on the Joe Rogan podcast keeps repeating herself: America The Empire America The Empire. Joes like well what do you want the US to do? And Abby’s like NOTHING. Just do NOTHING.
I don’t know why I said. I mean wrote that.
I should call Grandma and tell her thank you for having us.
Six deep breaths to reset. Six. That’s the minimum. Studies show.