ARCHIVES - 1996 to FOREVER

Thank god that I'm not religious... it would be so fucking boring to be told by charlatans and bigots what to do with my mind.

I was the scan room guru today, and as usual, it was fun, except for the remaining standing and moving around part.

We now have a temporary obstruction between the control room and the patient; it's a movable lead screen that allows ingress/egress between the outside world and the control room, and it has horizontal at the floor level supports that one must be continually conscious of.

So far I've been lucky.

To think that it's anything more than luck would ruin the juju, y'know? And I would trip and break my face or even more vital parts.

I was not gonna mention this here, because it's painful and stupid and definitely puts me in a bad light, which logically an autobiographical writing should not do if one has any pride at all....

Well, yeah.

I bought some cigars last night.

And I smoked one.

And I couldn't wait to get home tonight before I smoked another one.

And Karen got home shortly after I did, and naturally I kissed her... and she gave me so much shit.

But she can't give me nearly as much shit as I can give myself.

I really need to be able to understand my addictions, and a big part of that is, and always has been....

Who the fuck cares, long-term, whether I live or die or suffer or not?

In a hundred years... nobody.

I cannot deny the pleasure that smoking gives me, and I cannot deny the harm that it causes.

Yeah, here I am, sixty years old, and I still haven't figgered out how to live my life.

Pathetic.

And way, way too typical of my generation.

19:41...
I'm just going in too many directions tonight.

I was kinda cleaning up the shop and I had five or six cut-off small pieces of wood in my hands... and I started looking that them, imagining the different configurations of the grains of the wood and the contrasts of the different types of wood that were represented.

I had three pieces of CCA'd yellow pine, two of redwood and one of walnut. And yeah, they were headed to the trash bin.

And I stopped and looked at them and then I sat down at the desk (loosely named) and started playing with them.

And I reached a conclusion: Woodworkers like to play with blocks.

The hobby-type of woodworkers, anyway.

I loved playing with blocks as a kid. We didn't have legos, of course, but we had wood.

When I was growing up at a dismal period of my life, there were new houses being constructed in my neighborhood... and after school, or after the workers went home, I would scavenge for little pieces of wood. Nothing, of course, that would be missed.

And I would construct worlds and populate them with my army-green plastic army men, and with other beings from my imagination.

Nothing at all useful came from this, of course... it's just how I spent my time, having little else to do.

I got a really crummy sleep again last night and my mind, it is racing with thought that need to be harnessed into submitting to the demons of sleep....