Sore throats. All three of us. Smeared coconut oil and lavender essential oil on my neck head and face. Spoonfuls is honey. Winced down garlic cloves. L-Lysine tablets. I bet it’s the stress of the move. Or airborne bullshit from the guys repaving the street.
How about Buzzed for the book club book? Buzzed: The Straight Facts About the Most Used and Abused Drugs from Alcohol to Ecstasy. A former student with a big brain recommended to me and my students always make rocking recommendations.
I’m wearing a neoprene knee brace from soccer last night. Whiplash neck. Looking on Zenni Optical for prescription sports goggles. Glasses are bound to get crunched cracked cremated. Kate and I tag teamed with the baby. She plays. Then I play. Today my body feels wrecked from all the sprint side to side, stop go stop go.
We’re still planning on a podcast. Me and Mouse. Being a parent is two full time jobs, Jesus. Nap, eat, entertain. Repeat endlessly. They don’t say that in school. Kids: you’re parents are fucking heroes. Then again maybe not all parents are parents. Maybe some are bumps on a log. That’s something my mom used to say.
I had a dream last night where I was balling over and over again. I don’t remember why but I remember it involved the death of a child and it also involves this guy who I went to high school with names Ryan Kopperud. For some reason, things in the dream didn’t work out between us and I think it had to do with the death of the child, but interestingly, after the child died, even though that kept us apart, it also kept us close. Like bonding over tragedy. Of course it wasn’t stated like that in the dream. I felt really freeing and ahhhh sigh to cry bags and bags of tears in the dreams.
There is a cat on my lap. And laundry in a basket on the living room table.
I’m waiting for AI to hurry up and make human labor obsolete so that I can stop feeling 6% bad for not having a quote real job. There that’s today’s confession. And poetic line. You know when you’re writing these diary entries or anything that you know someone is going to see, it’s like going out on the town, versus staying in and binging Netflix, you’re writing to be seen. Like you’re self aware. You’re performing. The line about the AI is performance. Everything else in this post is me just doing me not giving a duck. I love how Siri autocorrects duck.
I haven’t a clue why Ryan Kopperud showed up like that in my dream.
The guitar is leaning against the wall. I haven’t played in months. But it’s not bad. I mean it is when I think of it like that. In terms of deficiency. But I’ve been doing other things. Using the foam roller, running, researching essential oils and time Restricted Eating and cold water therapy and and and and
The Aldi dumpster is good just all non organic stuff. At least the last three times. Organic cashews are always roasted in canola which is garbage so I’m going to look online and see what the Internet gods can provide.
Soon it’ll be legal to discuss micro dosing. But it’s not legal now. I mean it’s legal to discuss. Just risky. At least more risk than I’d like to carry with a wife and baby. If it were just me, I’d gab endlessly. It’s silly. The ban on plant medicine. It’s ludicrous actually. Horrendous. Idiocy.
If you’re ingesting plant medicine to cure yourself, good on ya. Spread the word and the good ocean vibes.