Sigh…today would have been a great top-down day…

Well the auciton is over, it’s too late to bid. But check out THIS CURSED JAR for sale at Ebay, complete with the details of how Death itself ended up in a pickle jar. There are stories here…

OK – Lenore hungers and I fear for my safety. I will have to see if I can figure out this public transportation thing. But I must hurry. When you get up at 3pm, it leaves little hours from which to take advantage of this tragically diurnal world’s services…

Ok ladies and gentleman – this is it.

My cousin Steve has been busily making video games featuring friends and family. Play them here at DOETSCH GAMES!!!

Fling penguins at Torrie. Try and catch Nick. Shoot the sexiest asteroids this side of Jabba’s fat ass.

God bless free delivery and all of its extra cheesy divinity!

PIZZA GIRL: I’ll just need you to sign this.
ME: Sure.
PIZZA GIRL: Cool necklace.
ME: Thanks.
PIZZA GIRL: Disturbed?
ME: Yep.
PIZZA GIRL: Are they your favorite band?
ME: Band?

“The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven.”
-John Milton, Paradise Lost

OK, Lucy, we’ll try it your way. Leave it to the devil to make a great comment on the imagination. I’ve definitely had to put it to the test today. Success is case by case, coming up Heaven and coming up Hell. Either way, you talk to yourself a lot.

Discipline
Craft
Preplanning

I’d been trying to integrate those things into my living and writing lately. I’ve always been more Lazy, Intuitive, and Chaotic. Never a plan, certainly not a regimen or schedule. Not disciplined, certainly, but I always seemed to make it work.

But I thought I could improve that…thoughts of graduating and real world made me think to improve. Join the ranks…

But that was a mistake. Thoughts of “real world” and realistic scenarios have never gotten me the things I’ve wanted. But a little discipline and scheduling…that should have made things better, should have made me more responsible. But it didn’t work. I haven’t gotten anything more done (maybe even less). I’ve been freezing up, less flexible, creativity stagnating. Hell, even my recent improv acting felt stiff.

I don’t recommend this…but I’m throwing out the whole discipline/planning shtick (I’m sure it works for more steadier souls than I).

The old way…no plan, all intuitive, worked. It shouldn’t have worked. It made me a little crazy, sometimes, juggling it all – it made me a little absent minded – it made all practical aspects of my life suffer (late credit card payments, late sending portfolios to Grad schools, not studying for the GRE, etc.) – and yet, I’d come out red eyed but happy on the other side (credit still somehow at 0%, in a fine writing program, with GOOD scores on my GRE, thank you very much).

God, I used to be so much more fluid!

Flowing lazily…but quickly when I needed to. Obstacles were just challenges and challenges were laughable and laughter needed no other motivation than to be uttered, long and loud. Problems used to just roll off of me, like water drops on a kick ass, waterproof, cashmere long coat (this thing is awesome, you can poor a whole cup of water on it and it doesn’t soak in…they even demonstrated at the store).

Lately, problems have been hitting me like bricks and I don’t have any give, I just crack, and viscous stuff flows out.

Not anymore.

When you live moment to moment, in the now, the days are long and the nights are endless…

So last night pretty much bit the big one.  I had escaped Springfield, past the boarder of boredom…but alas, the boredom boarder patrol are sharp on the trigger.  BAM!  Persephone, my addled convertible, finally made her death rattle…just 10 miles from friends and fun and drink.

Wait in the car.

Call AAA.

Wait for tow truck.

Wait during the ride home, in said truck.

Back in my apartment.

The highlight of the evening were some drunk calls from Wil.  I have no idea what was said in any of the long conversations we had.  There were English words in there…but any meaning was pretty ambiguous.  “Shit,” “cock,” and “fuck” were spliced in between words…and, at the height of the gibberish, I think he even managed to get the four letter words between the syllables of other words (that takes some deft vocalization Wil!).

Now I’m stuck here, indefinitely.  I’ve taken the opportunity to laze about and get extra sleep.  I’m glad I’ve gotten into running, as grocery shopping is going to involve several miles of hiking now.

Sandwiched between four walls, with just the thoughts in my head (and they have not been charitable creatures as of late).  I guess I can continue and “fix” my computer – I could get some work done – I could watch some movies – I could masturbate myself into a coma – I could stare and Lenore and observe the imperceptibly slow process of mouse digestion – I could carve poems into my walls with a screwdriver (sonnets on the walls and sestinas on the ceiling)…

Lot’s of options.

I was at the pet shop, getting frozen mice for Lenore, when this girl opened her mouth and let stupidity ooze out.

Her boyfriend was holding two ball pythons (a very small, very harmless python) trying to decide which one he wanted. She was freezing up, waxing dramatic, and insisting that he not even touch her, going on and on about how scary snakes are and how, “I’m just going to get a cute puppy and keep that thing away from me.” Then she looked around the room the way one looks around the room, after saying something ignorant, searching for support from strangers with one’s eyes.

She finally turned to me, silently seeking support from me. I smiled and leaned in and whispered to her the overwhelming statistical percentage that says how very much (as in with all certainty) more likely she’ll end up brutally killed by her adorable puppy (dogs being the number one man-killing animal) than her boyfriend’s harmless snake. In the realm of far out possibilities (lightening strikes, etc.), her puppy tearing out her throat was not all that far fetched.

I used to have a lot of patience for silly snake fear. I don’t anymore. When someone screams and goes frigid over an acute terror of a ceiling fan, we tell them this is irrational and that they should correct or maybe seek counseling to correct this psychological anamoly. When someone has the same paralyzing fear (we take it for granted…but really, these are adults with a paralyzing fear, they actually react to it physically), we pat them on the back. Bah!