I am relaxing on the inside. Outside you can tell that the curtains do not match the drapes. I’m online all the time… I’m an old squirrel constantly dating myself with what I know and what I don’t know. How the changing times outside this window bothers me… and because it bothers me or I don’t understand it… I am compelled to make fun of it. If I make fun of it funny enough people will like what I say and want to read more. Or, they’ll get a chuckle and file me in the forgettable links list. I don’t want that, but it’s a fact of this new life… that may or may not exist.
I’m rambling. I know this. I should be outside in a squirrel nest somewhere spending 20 hours of the day looking for food. Instead I sit at this laptop, as some bearded glasses dude draws me. Over and over and over. I’d rather be here than there. That’s for sure. That’s for sure.
I’m just being grumpy… does that make you love me more?
You’re never too young to start thinking about your legacy… the stuff you’ll be leaving behind; both tangible and intangible. I think about the stuff I leave behind all the time. I mean, I think about this ALL THE TIME.
But no matter how well I craft it, one thing is always going to be true: it’ll all be open to interpretation. I can say I was one way, but the clues I leave may lead someone to another conclusion. Hopefully, the light on that one will be much more sympathetic and nicer than the one that I install. In essence, it doesn’t what I leave behind, no one is going to listen to me anyway.
I think a vast majority of the working stiffs out there really don’t think about legacy… and that’s a shame. Who has time to do that when you’re struggling to make the mortgage? What’s left?
Ignorance is loud. Louder than Spinal Tap. It’s fast too. Ignorance moves at the speed of dumb. The speed of dumb is about 3 mph slower than the speed of light. I can’t believe that NASA has yet to develop a space transportation system that can achieve the speed of dumb. It’s not like dumb is fueled by a precious metal or a special fuel. Wait a minute… maybe they are. You can interpret that any way you see fit. I’m just a talking squirrel, what do I know?
I achieved the speed of dumb only once. The only drawback to the speed of dumb is that you move so fast that it’s almost like you’re standing still. Seriously! It was because I was with a group that were also traveling that speed. When everything around you has a constant velocity… the same velocity as you, it doesn’t seem like you’re moving. Don’t take my word for it, it’s physics.
How fast are you moving? Can you hear me over the ignorance? I’m intentionally being vague to be inclusive.
I have a ton of memories. Five years from now, I hope my iPod still works. Ten years from now, I hope this flash drive will still have some flash to it. I heard Frank going on and on not too long ago about what he’s going to do with all the Zip disks he accumulated a decade and a half ago. He doesn’t even remember what’s on them… his zip disk drive grew wings and flew off to silicon heaven a LONG time ago. The files that might be on them are probably meaningless now, but even so… those memories are locked…unreadable, unreachable… essentially, they do NOT exist.
What I’m saying now… technically, it does not exist. If I do not have a backup, a hard copy print out does it exist? I probably won’t remember writing this. Frank, who draws still draws everything on PAPER (can you believe it?) will have the drawing above, provided he doesn’t auction it off. Even so, it will exist. Somewhere.
Digitizing history is scary. Hopefully, someone somewhere will be backing your history up. Probably wise not to bet on that though.
We don’t get carpet in our house. A while back, Frank ripped almost all of it out and replaced it with tile. It’s easier to clean, considering all the fur bearing mammals (most of those mammals like to bear some other stuff too) that are located in our general vicinity. Getting rid of the carpet was a big thing… especially when it was being ripped out. I felt as though I was participating in some bizarre archaeological expedition through the living room. Remnants of tenants past revealed themselves through discarded artifacts… long forgotten.
At the time, Frank was not overly concerned with the history and the gravity of what was found. In fact, He was rather liberal with his colorful language…I think the only friend he had that day was the bottle of Tylenol he was nursing.
Maybe we’ll get carpet again one day. If we do, I have a whole box of stuff I plan on burying under it. My only regret is not being able to see the person’s face when they pull that carpet up and see my dirty underwear. What will they think? HOw far would they go to figure out the truth? How far?
In case you haven’t gathered, I’m not entirely in love with talking too much today. There’s something in the air, it doesn’t smell or feel like anything, but you know it’s there. It’s making my brain feel as though it took a break and replaced it with a bowl a lukewarm oatmeal. No… I take that back… it feels like cold oatmeal with a cheerio box cut up in it.
Avoidance should very well be an Olympic event. I know personally I can go to great lengths to avoid doing anything. The fact of the matter is, that I probably work harder to avoid doing something than just doing it. Avoiding it seems like I’m saving time and resources, but in reality, I only cheat myself.
This realization doesn’t mean I will accept my role and avoid avoidance from now on. If anything, it has made me want to streamline my process a bit and make avoidance more efficient.
Yes, I realize that’s even more work… don’t judge me.
Coffee is an excuse. Coffee is a fuel. Coffee would blow my heart up faster than a Kardashian marriage. It may be a bit of a cliche but again, cliches are cliches because they’re true. My heart when I’m chilled beats approximately 280 times. A normal human heart does about 75 a minute. If I were to splash some dark morning nectar onto that 280, it could easily double. If that were to double, the first thing that would happen is I would hear my heart beating faster and louder. It would be as if John Bonham were using my chest as a bass drum. Then, I’d really have a freak out. I’d be seeing things that weren’t there. I’d be talking fast, making no sense…it would be scary to say the least.
I remember one time I caught a whiff of Frank’s coffee breath. Then next thing I remember I was in a pine tree holding onto a spool of thread and a french fry talking to a teddy bear. Granted, Frank takes his coffee black so I probably got a stronger hit that if I were to smell Lezley’s coffee breath…which has cream, caramel, chocolate and some sort of nut involved.
I don’t touch the stuff. I’m allergic to breaking the sound barrier.
The Hokey Pokey is something that promises a lot, but delivers very little. I keep doing the dance over and over and over and still I am no more closer to enlightenment than I was before the music starts. And it just keeps getting faster and faster. It’s like the song and dance wants you to get somewhere, either internally or externally… But when the music stops… that’s what it’s all about. Leading you to something that isn’t there. Just more emptiness… and silence.
Is THAT what it’s all about? If so, that really stinks.
Maybe, I’m going backwards now and don’t even know it…
When the Apollo astronauts were on their way to the moon, they had to constantly check where they were in space. Using navigation optics, they determined their position relative to certain stars. This calculation was done over and over, to make sure they didn’t collide with anything they shouldn’t have collided with… and… to make sure they were going the right way. It let them know how far they’ve gone, and how much further they had to go. Walking on the moon was small potatoes… they had to get there first.
Knowing where you want to go is important. Checking where you are though… that’s even more important.