... And the dawg's still barking in Normal entries

Shit, I don’t remember why I orphaned this, it’s slept with the computer for at least two nights, tucked away in the lower right. I barely remember writing it. I think that wouldn’t happen so often if I liked what I was writing. I’m trying to rearrange my habits. It’s a bit like my attempts to declutter my living space; I just shift the clutter around, the longer I’m at it the worse it gets. It’s possible I have too much time on my hands. I used to write shit about time. Now that I’m feeling time I don’t want to write about it.

The year I came back to Michigan a bill was passed that made it so helmets were no longer mandatory for motorcyclists. The month I came back, I was out driving around, gathering wool and getting my bearings, there were a shit ton of bikers camped out on the capital steps. I had no idea why until November.

So today I was making a taco run long about the crack of 3:10 ish, and the hot, humid day turned quickly into a hot humid rainy day. It didn’t last long, but it rained hard for about ten minutes. I passed this guy on a small motorcycle, only thing on his head was a pair of sunglasses. I’m pretty sure they were clouded with rain. I’ve been there; you can’t take the glasses off and you can’t see through them. As far as I know he’s alive and well and toweling off. Helmets do more than protect your head in an accident. I don’t like wearing them, but, you know, I haven’t owned a bike since I was a kid and bought a ‘fixer-upper’ for like twenty bucks. I never got it running. I have, however, borrowed bikes. It’s a hell of feeling going fast on two wheels, I wouldn’t have worn a helmet if I didn’t have to.

All the arguments in favor of helmets are good and true. I guess the two things that bother me are 1) They fuck with your peripheral vision, you have to turn your head. My peripheral vision gives me a heads up, with a helmet it feels paranoid looking for shit that’s not there but you have to know anyhow. 2) It’s like a jinx thing, like inviting an accident by preparing for one. I don’t know. I’ve been in my fair share of accidents in cars and bicycles, I didn’t have a helmet, and the sort of accidents they were a helmet wouldn’t have helped. I’m not saying don’t wear a helmet, hell, if it brings you comfort wear a bullet proof helmet. Just saying given the choice I prefer not to.

I guess number three would be bitching off topic, mostly. I hate shit that’s mandated for insurance reasons, like, say, car insurance, or, say, wearing a helmet. Different states and different countries have different shit mandated, except car insurance, I have no idea what the global stance is on it, but it’s like a law that benefits private for-profit companies. I guess it’d be different if basic liability insurance came with your license, I mean like government pro-rated insurance, but, just a different kind of bad. I’m not really against insurance, just insurance companies. There is a government mandate that every driver in the US has to purchase it, that’s like a mandatory few billion, and they still get all bitchy or quiet when a claim is made. Or so I hear. My car insurance is great. Yeah, I could spend less, but those motherfuckers don’t grouse about a claim or negotiate, they just pay and quickly, without raising my rate. Ok, so I haven’t had a claim since I took the ex off my insurance, but still, if I have to ass fucked by mandate, those are the folks I want doing it. Most grownups in the states have a shitty insurance company story. I couldn’t get health care in this state without insurance. I told places I would pay in cash as I went. I went through the yellow pages. Not a single bite. I got insurance and then I had my pick of places, I took the one with the fastest appointment time. I had even tried an emergency room who can’t turn you away. Six hours in an empty ward, I think they were hoping I’d leave. Even then the health care was marginal and snappish.

Jesus, I bitch a lot. Below is an orphan. I can’t imagine reading this shit.

I very rarely remember my dreams, and it’s even rarer for me to write about them. I do sometimes wake up knowing I’ve been affected by something I can’t remember. I thought, as I woke up an hour later than usual, of an AI smartphone with auto-correct running amok; strategic corrected words and covert misspelled texts to world leaders. That sounds like a stupid dream, but, perhaps a funny/horror readable short story.

A niece is flying in tomorrow. Which mine? Mine, well, one of them. I liked my nieces from my ex second wives side, saw most of them from early childhood through early adulthood. I stopped seeing so much of them when I moved 2500 miles away. I had the privilege of being an available uncle to them. My blood niece here I’m kind of a stranger to, not estranged, a not to shabby of a notion, just didn’t see much of her childhood; I was 2500 miles in the other direction.

Ok, part of this entry was to see if my mind is as cottony as it feels. It’s not like I edit these things anyhow, but this one won’t even be close enough to smell spellcheck. Kind of makes AI auto-correct look good in comparison to the rest. You know that old saying about writing being 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration? I’ll take the analogy a step further; you need to work out at least three times a week to keep the chops in shape. I can’t seem to muster the one percent inspiration lately either. It’s frustrating.

One day soon, when I feel like it’s possible, I’m going to start writing shit way outside my comfort zone. Hmmmm, that makes it sound like I have inhibitions. No, I just mean structure wise, like going all third person exposition or, shit, I don’t know, goth or fucking cheery.

Inspiration is a bit like refined white sugar; addictive in a creeps up on you sort of way. There are folks on the best seller list right now who haven’t been inspired ever. I’m guessing, I have no idea who is on the best seller list. And there’s people like Steven King who has probably been inspired often, but, the last ten of his books that I’ve read sound like the same story with different nouns. I think that damn possessed car, Christine, or the possessed dog, Cujo, were the breaking point. Yeah, I know those are old, if I was a fan I could point out the number of books since then that sound like, for instance, the same fucking story. This is me being Steven King friendly, Steven King benefit-of-the-doubt-ish. On the whole I kind of find him to be juvenile lit with inappropriate content for juveniles. Apologies to fans. For all my usual Steven King criticism, it’s not like my criticism of Dan Brown; I can actually read a Steven King novel.

I was telling someone the other that I’ve written five novels, and, no, none published, and yes, four of them sucked, the other didn’t suck. I think she was being polite, but people always act impressed. It’s possible, too, that they are impressed by putting that many words in a row and having them resemble a story. I don’t know. She was a lady at the dispensary where I was buying marijuana supplies. She kept adjusting her tube top. She was no bigger than minute, it must be hard finding tube tops in the children’s clothing section. We had hyper small talk, heh, she even said a strain I was interested made you relaxed, chatty, talkative, laid back, chatty, relaxed, wait, did I already say relaxed? I have a hard time talking to someone without mimicking their speech pattern. It’s embarrassing when I’m talking to someone with an accent or speech impediment or, for the sake of fuck, Tourette’s. I have to concentrate actively to not mimic. Fortunately, being chatty doesn’t seem offensive, going all Mario and Luigi or someone with an Italian accent is offensive.

It is impressive writing a bunch of words in a row that resemble a story. It’d be more impressive to write a bunch of words in a row well that looked exactly like a story and were entertaining. I’m ever the optimist, I figure them words are coming. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get back in the habit of writing shit like this daily so that if I come up with something I really want to tell at least the mechanisms (fingers and keyboard that tell it) won’t be shocked by the light of day.

Um, that last bit was all kind of bullshit, true bullshit, but there’s nothing good about actual bullshit, unless you count all the things that could be worse. Herbivore shit is much nicer than carnivore shit; it smells like hay and grass. Carnivore shit smells like dead things. Just the same, you don’t shout yay when you step in bullshit. It’s easier to avoid Bullshit. It’s large and if it’s out in a field the foliage on the field is usually short. Dog shit is sneaky.

So, I meant bullshit as in lame excuse, not exactly a synonym, but bullshit works anywhere you want to imply an excuse or lie. Excuses are not necessarily lies, but they aren’t necessarily applicable either. Growing old is a bitch, you have to adjust to different speeds. You don’t heal as fast, think as fast, and you’re not hip to the latest prevailing attitudes or slang. With that last you’re quick to call them stupid. You may be right.