hungry tired twitchy overcaffeinated decked out with a new macbook for some reason, the kind with the third generation of the shitty keyboard that’s supposed to be slightly less shitty but it is definitely true that the trackpad is too big but i don’t know why Rick offered this to me, but it’s cool, and it’s insanely cool that I DIDN’T BUY ANOTHER FUCKING COMPUTER! WOO HOO! I didn’t buy one this year! But I still get to use a 2018 MBP, and a better one than I would have been able to afford even if I had been a dumb ass and bought one! So that’s cool. Listening distractedly to Tubular Bells on my new free speakers, while distractedly typing this. “I am having a hard time with this exercise.” I am also having a hard time typing without mashing double keys because the keys are so damn flat and wide and non-differentiated and you can barely hit them on the corner and they still take, which some might think of as a good thing but it’s hard to get used to. It might not be terrible; it’s just not going super easily right away. But it is cool that you can just slide your fingers from one key to the next if your letters you’re trying to type are adjacent. Very fast in that regard. Except I have to stop about every five words to go back and fix the extra-typed-letter typos, because it’s SO FUCKING SENSITIVE. Jesus. Whatever. That absolutely 100% does not matter. Oh look, the “d” key just fired twice. On a computer that’s had less than an hour’s use. Well, we’ll see. It is all fun and games because I DIDN’T BUY IT!!! WOOOOOO!~!!! I mean, you know. I am really hungry I guess. Or at least carb-starved. I am feeling woozy, wet, weak, and weird. There’s so much dumb stuff. Why do we want Apple products so much that we have made them a trillion dollar company? Why is Apple worth more than oil companies, TV companies, some entire countries, communications companies, etc, etc? What is the value of a company based on? Is it based on the demand for a product that they make? Or is it some other kind of gaming of a system that’s itself based on numbers in a spreadsheet, which has no actual physical reality? If it’s based on a product, then why do we value these products so much? Is it because they make us feel young and powerful? Is the trillion dollar company the one that currently comes closest to letting us convince ourselves that we can be immortal, even if only for an instant? And then another instant? And then another, and another, and another, until (wryly? disingenuously?) the company builds into the product a little counter thingy to tell us how many immortal instants we’ve had this week, so we can look at the number and see how addicted we are, right before we take another hit? It’s bigger than drugs, isn’t it? Because it helps us feel immortal without having to take drugs. It makes us feel righteous, rich, and part of the group, and not just the monkey group but the brain group and the heart group; the monkey group “on steroids” so help me. Well, I got three more minutes to sit here and prove something to myself, and type double characters like this I mean this I mean this I mean this I mean this I mean this I mean this I mean this oh now it won’t do it, just because I want it to. That’s fuckinfg g— there. It did it. Anyway, after the three minutes I’m going to eat something. Drink something. Mow the lawn. Feel better. Put in a load of laundry. Go grocery shopping. Make sure I’m ready for the train trip with Lib & Cel tomorrow. Be a little nervous about leaving Meg & Mil here. Basically be all right. Do at least a tiny bit of schoolwork so I don’t slip into the mindset of “I met with Jason and he’s going to put in for half of my summer pay, so I can relax which really means wait another two weeks until I have less than a week left and then freak out and end up with barely any changes to any classes other than AVID and even AVID end up being half assed and to hell with all the brilliant schemes I had.” Because that would kind of suck. Forty seven seconds. Like Black 47. Like the CD’s I went through. I went through those stupid notebooks of CD’s that for some reason the bitch insisted on using. She took them all out of the cases and stuck them, just the disks and the booklets, in these sleeve things, like a photo album. When I threw the cases out years ago, after she was gone, I must have accidentally thrown out one of the notebooks too, because I don’t have the end of the alphabet. But I have my Willie & Van CD’s, so I must have at least somewhat gone thru it before I lost all of those. I just wonder if there was anything in that third book that I would have wanted. Obviously it doesn’t matter now, and if I don’t know what I’m missing then who cares, right? But the point is, I went through the ones that were left, got out the ones I wanted to keep, put them in new slim cases from Wal Mart, and THREW OUT THE REST. It was one of those things that kind of I guess I could say gave me a twinge of sadness, but mostly it was just—not much. Mostly it was just throwing out a bunch of shit I didn’t need. Grubby old CD’s from when she had a life and a personality and did stuff with people and had an image and a collection of characteristics and grubby aspirations and petty ambitions and a cheap stereo and then she met me and we put all our CD’s together and now she’s (obviously) gone and I took them back apart again (finally) and honestly, it wasn’t that big a deal. A twinge. Like I said, a twinge. Maybe a little bit of a subconscious dream, a low level version of the kind of dream that I still have, where she’s back and spending my money and making decisions and I feel that sinking resigned feeling followed by sweet clear releif as clear and cool as water when I wake up, and I’m grateful again to be on my own, and I threw the fucking CD’s away and it wasn’t that big a deal. It was literally just throwing away some trash.