100918 I have twice in a row skipped the morning sesh. The first time i could blame it on the bottle of wine that i for some reason drank and that didn’t make me feel good really in almost any way. the second one...? residuals? intertia? just goes to show you, you can spend months building up a habit and then it takes about a day and a half to let it go again, sliding back into the soup. along with the basil. and the tarragon. and the thyme. and the celery. onions. NOODLES. Fuckin noodles, man. I keep getting a softball intrusion: should I go next door and say something to the asian neighbors about their kids &/or their kids’ friends driving on the lawn? I don’t even have “proof.” But I could say something like hey can you let everyone know that they shouldn’t be driving on the lawn. I’ve been noticing tire tracks, and it seems to happen after the kids have people over and there’s a bunch of cars here. Could you just remind them. Problems: - who’s going to answer the door; if it’s not the dad or mom what do i say - if it’s the mom, how well does she understand english? Am i going to sound like a prattling fool - i don’t have “proof” it’s them, even though, i mean, come on.. I dunno, I feel like the debate between go over there vs. not tends to orbit around the sun of machismo more than around any milder planet of what’s actually best and called for and necessary. Like I castigate myself for not doing it, just in case I’m not doing it because I’m afraid to this keyboard/trackpad combination is all but useless whatever. peanut butter. jelly. stuff like that. I don’t know. Can’t think of anything else rn. My fingers hurt. Too much typing on shitty keyboards and trackpadding on shitty ergonomic layouts. It’s one or the other: the shitty keyboard but the trackpad (even tho it’s bone-crushingly just utterly fucking slack-jawed retard buttfuckingly DUMBLY too fucking big) is in the right place, or else the keyboard is good but you gotta constantly be reaching over for the trackpad. Sigh. After all these years, they still ain’t solved it. Well, Apple might have, but then they fucked it up again. On purpose. I could get a non-Apple computer, but, uh, but, well, uh... that’s kind of icky too. So there’s no way to win, so you may as well not try. Remember when I was obsessed about different lenses? And I kept buying different ones, even though I should have been saving that money or spending it on stuff the kids would actually benefit from? It’s so easy to slip back into the warm blanketing enclosure of purchase-obsession. I could do it right now; all it would take would be a tiny little self-nudge over the edge, and I could go right back in there. Staring at Amazon all day. Checking prices. Rationalizing costs. Spending money. Going numb with the reward-circuit subdermal blast of receiving and opening. Using for a while. Until the shine wears through; the silver plate reveals the dull brassy reality that the thing you sacrificed common sense to hold in your hands is merely, inevitably, obviously, just another thing. Yeah (you tell yourself) but maybe 25mm is the sweet spot! It’s all so fucking hilarious in the sense of not funny at all. Whatever. Castles. Spaceships. Bales of stray straw. Cats. Dolphins. I truly don’t know. A smattering of fallen apples on the sidewalk, a nursery for flies and maggots and other such enlightened civilizations. They know what they’re doing, man. They’re unflappable, those bright green-backed flies that huddle around the leftovers of the mouse Tera gored. They cloak it, they form a vibrating suit of armor around it. They eat their way in. I mean, that’s pretty much what we all do, isn’t it? Jump on, swarm on, crawl all over something or someone that someone else killed for us? Mostly. I mean, even your cute little macho hunters in their cute little camo suits are just doing that for fun. What percentage of their actual vitality and livelihood comes from their own claws and teeth? Any of us? Farmers that slaughter animals? Does that count? In a well-defined factory-like situation where the animal never had a chance? It was born to die? I don’t know. I truly don’t know what counts and what doesn’t anymore. Is that another reason the rednecks and jokesy mansplainers think vegetarianism is such a pussy way to be? Because you’re abandoning even the pretense of being a predator? Whatever. Sacks of flour. Sacks of clouds. Rain on the shelf. Oh la la la la la. I truly don’t know anything today. This keyboard sucks and is annoying and makes my finger joints cramp up. Fuck you, Apple.