Saturday, August 6, 2016


What I was thinking about yesterday was time and how we waste it.

I hadn't written anything in here for four or five days. Why? Time constraints?

Fuck no. I got all the time in the world these days. At least a hell of a lot more than I did previously over the last four decades.

On the days that I work I generally have four to five hours to myself before I motor on in to ThriftLand. Plus I have three full days every weekend to dig deep and rearrange, plot, plan and recreate.

If you ever hear me say "I didn't have time" just shoot me in the face.

Still July was a bitch. Hot and humid every single goddamn day. I have only exercised maybe three times since the first week of July and that is a goddamn shame because I was in a groove, baby.

I now weigh 310 pounds; the neighborhood kids call me "Fat Tub of Lard Man" and then throw rocks at me.

It is shameful.

So strange to hear me complain about heat. Me. The Heat Lover. But enough is enough. On a few mornings when I woke up cold I was actually grateful. Happy to put the sweat pants on and shiver downstairs to greet the new day.

Anyway, back to the time dilemma.

Wasting time is a crime against humanity; wasting the gift of extra time is the most heinous crime a human being can commit.

So I feel bad.

So I feel motivated. To just deal with this weather and still get things done. Get back to exercising even if it kills me. Get back in shape or die trying. Put words to paper and give them wings to lift me towards redemption. Shake, rattle and roll.

I have a gut feel that we are stuck with this inferno for a while. Over the past few years summer started late and thrived right through September.

You know, that global warming thing that idiot republicans do not believe in.

So I'm guessing we are wallowing in a three month stretch of H&H. And if that is the case I cannot keep my head and aspirations down as my weight balloons and opportunity slips away.

So there you have it. One man's struggles with climate and motivation.

Jesus it never gets easier does it?

(Or am I too privileged and pampered to recognize just how easy I do have it?)

Perhaps that is a topic for another time and place.

Laissez le bon temps rouler

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