What're ya gonna do? in Normal entries

Two waitresses’ s diverged in a wood, Lulu and Mavis

I being of a different bent took the waitress less travelled …

Oh though I were lost and asked the lord to save us

I’ve miles to go before I Davis, I’ve got miles and miles of Davis --- neither Theloniuos Frost not David Monk

Y’all don’t have to fuck me running, but it would be a great kindness to consider doing so. Literally I think it’s impossible, but, at bare minimum, for those younger than the likes of us. It’s an expression meaning that I am less than gruntled. Somewhere I was reading a discussion of, I believe, deductive linguistics; if disgruntled is a word than gruntled must be. I’m not sure that’s true. Not every suffix and prefix work the same way with every word, a mild yet goofy, vaguely obscene example might be; dismembered and membered. Though one could come up with possible meanings of membered (I obviously was taking the low road) it is hardly a bi-nary buddy of dismembered, and, maintaining my low road, remembered still doesn’t make it a trinity of collective words.

I’m less than gruntled all the same. In corrections I had a manager who had decided, in a moment of unprecedented foresight, to return to school, using his GI bill, to get an MSW (I don’t believe he succeeded) but he did, on more than one occasion, in an attempt to sound learn’ed use the phrase ‘less than gruntled’ to express his displeasure. Heretofore he was the only unfortunate malcontent I had use the phrase verbally.

I spent a good portion of my morning in the cardiology offices. It was a test. Wait, back that pony up. It was for my father, a by-pass patient, and the test was to see how far he could walk. It’s the first time he’s been outside in more than six weeks, and the longest distance he’s walked by a good tenfold in the same six weeks. What wore me out was trying to answer what the intern though were simple questions, many answers, which he politely let me ramble on about, were met with the response ‘that is not a cardiology concern though’, I guess I should be flattered. Though I couch most of my medical translations to the variety of pokers and prodders of my father with “My observation” and “My best educated opinion” I was expecting cardiologists to assume I didn’t know jack shit. Every religious text ever written has, somewhere in it, how bad it goes for man when he aspire to godliness; Cardiologist are the most arrogant megalomaniacs this side of politicians and yet dude expected me to offer cardiology opinions with which he could take notes. Unlike some of the other lab coats, he discovered right away that asking my father directly was an exercise in futility.

If I am ever moved to get a tattoo, drunk or sober, it might as well be on my forehead, in a clear block 46pt font reading “The fuck do I know?” Either that or something on my ass reading something like “Life is not a cabaret; it’s a fucking circus.” I don’t have a problem with tattoos, and hating needles is not what’s kept me from them, it’s the whole permanence thing, I’m not a big fan of shit I can’t get rid of at a moment’s notice. Always travel light is not just a motto for traveling, it’s a lifestyle. There’s a Buddhist saying that sums it up better than always travel light; A man’s wealth can be measured by what he can do without --- it’s a little wordy and little too socio-economic. Always travel light, while less precise, is more to the point. A tattoo is like a vanity plate, too easy to identify; always travel light sometimes means disappear into nothingness.

I ramble.

I’m spent.