Simple and Powerful

 "Success is largely the failures you avoid

  Health is the injuries you don't sustain

  Wealth is the purchases you don't make

  Happiness is the object you don't desire

  Peace of mind is the arguments you don't engage

  Avoid the bad to protect the good"

James Clear, inspired by a column by Morgan Housel - "Wealth Is What You Don't Spend"

I don't usually dig stuff like this - seems too simple. But this year I have begun to embrace the less is more approach. James Clear has inspired me - I am reading him a lot. At its essence his philosophy is that if you are trying to change or improve, you should shoot for a 1% improvement every day.

You need to think about what you want to accomplish and establish a way of achieving that, and then attack it every day - in small increments. In other words, be realistic. Not apocalyptic.

This is perfect for me because I am The King of Apocalyptic. Every problem is the end of the world for me. If I drop a piece of meat off the barbecue grill I might as well fashion myself a noose - it's all over, baby.

My brain aches like an overused muscle; I have been beating on it all year. I have truly changed the way I look at a lot of things and the way I think. And I am happier.

Some shit still sets me off; I am only human for Christ sake (although Carol still refers to me as God). After all, I am digging out from under a lifetime of uncertainty and anger - that shit is heavy, baby. Almost smothered me and I am happy to begin to see the light - I never thought I would.

It gives me hope.

My relationship with Carol is better, my relationship with myself is better, I handle myself better at work - these are tangible things and they contribute to a growing sense of well being.

How bizarre, no?

Anyway, I am getting a bit off track. Wealth is the purchases you don't make; Happiness is the object you don't desire; Peace of mind is the arguments you don't engage. Powerful statements. They bring me peace just reading them.

Carol and I accumulated a chunk of change this year and I am proud of how we are managing it. We are using it carefully to grease our way towards retirement. Full retirement.

I am so sick of using the phrase semi-retired. Been saying that since 2016 and it tastes like shit in my mouth. There is no dignity in it. I'm sure Carol feels the same way; she is now semi-retired as well.

To be blunt - if you are doing anything in a "semi" kind of way, you ain't doing it at all.

In the old days I would have bought a Ferrari Testarossa. I actually did something as stupid as that when we had the business. We were forced to withdraw money from our retirement account just to survive. That money should have been carefully managed. Instead, I spent a chunk of it on a TransAm.

I was driving by a house, it was for sale on the lawn, I took it for a test drive - to the bakery - and told Carol I was buying it. I knew our world was about to fall apart and felt that I deserved the fucking car.

How stupid. She should have killed me on the spot.

Happiness is the object you don't desire. I feel that in my bones now.

I think we are going to be all right. All I'm looking for is some peace and dignity and independence in the years we have left.

I believe that is within our grasp.

A Beautiful Moment

I had to have blood work done yesterday, then I had a physical.

I am going to be the world's worst patient as I age and my health deteriorates. I despise going to the doctor. I despise hospitals. I despise doctors offices.

I am already becoming quite outspoken when I deal with these people.

It all depresses me as I look around me and see people my age and older who are just decrepit. Walkers, canes, wheelchairs, oxygen masks. This is what is in front of me and it worries me. It is fucking unavoidable. I hate anything I can't control.

I was out of the house for three hours yesterday, back and forth to Concord. Got back home around 1:00.

Carol had a 4:00 appointment in Manchester in yet another new situation. Speech therapy. I've said it before, I'll say it again - it breaks my heart to watch what she is going through. Breaks my fucking heart.

This was her first appointment. In the old days I would have said you are on your own, baby. I would have stayed home and used the quiet time to drink whiskey and punch myself in the face.

I suspected she was not happy about heading down there, so when I got home from my appointments I told her I would go with her.

She was grateful.

Found the joint, got her inside and registered, then told her I was going to my car to take a nap. I had enough of doctors' offices yesterday.

Rolled down all the windows, opened the sun roof, pushed my seat back and chilled.

On a perfect day. Absolutely gorgeous. Warm. A beautiful breeze drifting through the car.

I did sleep a little. When I awoke I sat there and appreciated the beauty of that moment. I could not have been more at peace. The grounds were beautiful, much wooded; the weather was so perfect, the breeze so gentle.

Carol's appointment lasted over an hour. I had a lot of time to enjoy my situation. I felt zero stress. Did not worry about anything. I surrendered to the moment perfectly.

She came out happy, which is good because that moment is always a hold my breath moment for me. She is not happy about everything. But the appointment went well and she can do the therapy virtually. No rides to Manchester.

We went home.

That moment fed me. It is in my head now, still doing me some good.

Keeping it simple ,baby.

Been Meaning To Tell You About My Buddy Joe Burrow

 I did not watch the NFL draft this year. 

I did not watch the combine. I did not follow the coverage of any of this. I did not watch NFL coverage after the 2019 season ended.

I learned my lesson the year before. When the 2018 season ended I just kept on watching. Draft coverage. The combine. Personnel moves. It was a waste of time.

The only thing I enjoyed was having some knowledge of the draft. I was familiar with the names, the positions they played, who might draft them. That felt useful to me. I enjoyed knowing that.

I saw clips of this year's draft. The one that knocked me out was Joe Burrow. #1 pick of the NFL draft.

That is like being picked to replace God. 

When he got the news, Joe was at home. With his mom and dad. Sitting on the couch.

I thought that was spectacular.

Usually these guys are surrounded by their entourage. Family, friends, sycophants and supporters. Rowdiness is the order of the day. That night they probably go out and swill expensive booze and enjoy the company of expensive women.

Joe got hugs from his mom and dad. The two most influential people in his life. The two people who supported him emotionally and financially through everything for decades despite very long odds.

I don't think it gets any more meaningful than that. 

I think that's the way it should always be. Because from that point on Joe's life gets blown up. The biggest stage. Front and center. Lots of money. Lots of attention.

That moment with his parents may be the last real moment of his life. Devoid of hype; filled with love.

Spectacular.

This week in the NFL:

3 big games.

Today - PATS/Raiders. Big deal because I am a homer. 

Packers/Saints. Rodgers vs Brees. The dual of two gunslingers. One who is kicking ass; one who is being described as over the hill. Fun stuff.

Tomorrow night: Chiefs/Ravens. Are you fucking kidding me? This should be one of those games. The type of game you'll be talking about until after you die.

Sports is oxygen to me and every sports fan this year. For me, football is like a defibrillator to my battered heart.

It makes me feel alive; it fucking keeps me alive. I gotta have it.

What About My Sons?

 When Ruth Bader Ginsburg died, I began to worry about the rest of my sons' lives.

I don't usually think that way. My sons can take care of themselves. But sometimes the world intrudes in ways unexpected and dangerous. Ways that cannot be avoided, controlled or responded to.

My life has been affected many times by things outside of my control. Things that threw me off course and forced me to adapt. Not to conquer, not to succeed - to adapt. There is a difference.

There is an uncomfortable sense of resignation about adapting.

When trumpfuck and his spineless, ball-licking lackeys get through appointing the next supreme court justice, the court will set about the business of sending this country back to the dark ages. And if Shitfuck gets re-elected, democracy is done. I truly believe that. No hyperbole.

I am 66. Who gives a shit. Except one worry that has solidified in my mind is the idea that social security could be taken away from Carol and me, or be reduced to a level that will force us to work back in the coal mine. 

Previously I figured if they fuck with ss, it won't affect us - we are too far down the road. I am no longer so sure. These amoral fiends have proven over and over again that they don't care about human suffering and death. Don't fucking care.

Still, I am 66. The clock is ticking so loudly I am forced to walk around with my hands pressed to my ears.

Keith and Craig got a good fifty years ahead of them. Probably more. Fifty years of a corrupt supreme court, along with the after effects of 8 years of scumfuck, sounds like Armageddon to me. 

I want my sons to be healthy. I want them to be happy. I want them to have a chance.

I am feeling really down. RBG's death seemed like a lethal gut punch. What evil deity would allow this to happen? No one. No deity would orchestrate this. Only The Devil. Feels like evil has won.

And not just relative to the supreme court. It feels like evil is winning in America and all over the world in every way imaginable. 

Dark times are coming. Dark times are about to become the norm.

I worry about my sons.

Prophet

 " On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron".

H.L. Mencken (9/12/1880-1/29/1956)

If At First You Don't Succeed

 So, yeah Carol and I tested negative for Covid-19.

I went right back to work to try a little harder to get infected. That's how it feels. Right back into the belly of the beast.

Stricter guidelines now. You have to wear a mask at all times away from your desk. Seems stupid to me. A little short of the mark. I now wear my mask throughout the day, even at my desk. Truly sucks.

But it's my only chance of surviving this diseased, closed environment that everybody pretends to understand the rules about, even when they don't.

How the fuck does anybody really know, in a closed office, that sitting at a desk unmasked is safe? Who knows what is floating around the air filtration system. The office was closed on Monday so deep cleaning could be performed. I laugh at that. Reminds me of the fifties when kids would practice hiding under their desks at school in the event of nuclear attack.

That was so far off base from reality, so disconnected from the evil destruction a nuclear bomb could wreak, that it is laughable. How do we know the supposed knowledge about coronavirus is any deeper?

Understanding of this disease has been evolving from the start and continues to do so. I believe that shit like "deep cleaning" is designed to give peace of mind to the potentially infected. Like hiding under a desk. We even have a mobile filtration unit in the office now. Right next to my desk. The noise drives me crazy.

But at least I am safe.

Funny shit. Maintenance dude dragged the mobile unit into the office last Friday, the day we all got the fucking news. He could not get out of there fast enough. Plugged it in and practically ran out of the office.

Comforting.

So here we go. Round Two. Back in the ring for another swing.

"Nobody told me there'd be days like these. Strange days indeed."

Back To Square One

 I recently got over the hump.

A hump that has been torturing me for a very long time. Getting over it was no mean feat.

I finally got my brain to understand that although my life is not even close to what it should have been, I am now 66 years old and not in a hopeless situation. In fact we are one big step from masterminding our own liberation.

We have been very lucky recently. I landed the city job in September, a good paying job with delightful hours. Two and 1/2 days on. 4 and 1/2 days off. When the world fell apart I reaped the benefits of generous unemployment for four months, and Carol never lost her job. They called me back in the middle of July, two weeks before President Fuckstick and his corrupt republican senate cut off the federally funded unemployment benefit.

Not a bad deal. Timing, baby - timing.

Then Covid-19 reared its ugly head in the office where I work. I have been exposed to it. We've been tested and now we wait for results. 

And I am back to square one.

I will have to go back to work in that very same office. I have no choice. An office where a certain number of employees don't take the coronavirus seriously. I don't know this for a fact but it is easily surmised by conversations I have overheard. Conversations shitting on Biden and still, STILL, shitting on Hillary Clinton. And liberals.

No choice. That is the key to my horror. I have no choice because of bad decisions, non decisions, mistakes and wrong turns, and laziness over my lifetime. Had I lived up to my potential Carol and I would be fully retired and would not have to do anything.

We would be safe and protected.

My anger has been refreshed. I am furious at myself for not taking life seriously. I fucked up big time.

And now I have to go back to work in a dangerous environment because we need the money.

We have to get this house off our backs, I have to get this job off my back. Those two things are interrelated. When the house goes, the job goes. 

But nothing is guaranteed. If Fuckstick gets re-elected and continues to destroy the country and the economy we might only be able get $14 for the house.

And then Carol and I are condemned to work until we die. 

And that I will not do.

Hatred

This country is full of hatred.

And anger.

I was driving home from work last week. Got to an intersection where I would be taking a left turn. My arrow was green. I noticed a guy coming from the opposite direction, screaming down the road with his right blinker on. A long way off but he was moving.

I started to turn and he took the turn as well. Cut me off. I flipped him off. I was behind him and he slowed way down. He was driving a big old Chevy SUV. Obviously a brainless trump ball-licker.

I thought he was going to stop. I thought maybe I made a mistake.

I am not a tough guy. Never have been. But I do have a temper. That is a bad combination in today's world. 

Turns out he slowed down to about 10 miles per hour, daring me, of course, to try and pass him. I realized the smart thing to do was to wait him out until he satisfied his juvenile response (as opposed to my mature response). After a minute or two he got back up to speed. The episode was over.

I'm thinking I need to control my temper. There are a lot of stupid, violent, fucked up people out there. And they are breeding at record rates. Better for me to hope that douchebag contracts Covid-19 and dies a twisted, excruciatingly painful death. It would make me feel good to know that.

Heard Marc Maron doing stand-up recently. About this very thing. He was talking about the fact that he is not a fighter. He accepts that. He said he is not a pussy but he is on the cusp. I love that. Made me laugh. He is such an honest guy.

But the manhood thing is the problem. I feel I am being challenged when  douchebag boy cuts me off, but what does it prove to flip him off? It proves I am not too smart. You gotta know your limits.

All trump supporters are brutes who feel no pain because they are too stupid to feel pain. Sensitivity is beyond their grasp, emotionally and physically. It's better to wait them out. They will all die from drinking too many Natty Lights, smoking too many cigarettes, and refusing to wear masks.

Natural selection, baby.

I wish we could speed up the process. Then I could get back to flipping assholes off safely.

You Suck, George

 Carol and I got tested for Covid-19 today.

Why?

Because a co-worker of mine tested positive yesterday. Let me be more specific.

Because some jerk-off, motherfucker, brainless piece of shit was irresponsible about his own fucking life and as a result turned our life upside down. And the lives of every one working in my office.

They closed the office at 1:00 yesterday, it will be closed on Monday. After that I don't know.

The test was not horrible. We tested ourselves. CVS drive-up window by appointment. The woman walked us through it and now we wait.

FIVE to SEVEN days. What a fucking joke. It renders the test essentially meaningless. 

So what do I do? Go back to work while I wait? That seems fucking insane. I will contact work and find out what my options are.

There is very little chance that I caught this nasty bug. But I might have. I do have contact with this dude, I do speak to him, I give him paperwork, he signs it and returns it to me. 

I might have. That thought lurks in the brain. And what if I gave it to Carol? Jesus fucking Christ.

So the line yesterday was "if you had a conversation of more than 10 minutes with George and you were within 6 feet or less, you should get tested". Other than that you were on your own. To test or not to test. But the city will pay for testing charges, if any.

I said forget about the parameters, forget about the guidelines - I am getting tested and my wife is getting tested. Period.

I don't believe knowledge of this disease is that specific. What if I talked with him for 5 minutes from 7 feet away. Catch my drift? And what about the theories of working in a closed environment (which I do) with inadequate ventilation? Nobody wearing masks (including me, unfortunately - I got lulled into a sense of complacency). Although I am religious about it otherwise, which I'm sure is not the case for fuckhead. And what about this and what about that?

I gotta worry about my health and Carol's health because of one jerk-off, motherfucker, brainless, piece of shit. For FIVE to SEVEN days. What do we do? Wrap ourselves in plastic wrap and lay down on the floor for a week?

We had to cancel plans we had with Keith and Krista today. We cannot attend my Aunt Dina's funeral on Wednesday. Carol had to cancel her PT appointment for Monday. 

This is the world we live in now. A world where some people think Covid-19 is a joke and do not give a fuck about how their bottomless stupidity affects other peoples' lives. Fuck every motherfucker who does not religiously wear a mask. Fuck you and die.

The Yang to the Yin:

On the way home from the Covid test Carol and I stopped in to Beech Hill Farm. A magnificent ice cream place where you can expand your waistline and dig on the pigs and goats and birds etc. Pristine and peaceful.

We sat outside on a gorgeous fall day, an absolutely gorgeous fall day, digging on ice cream, digging on happy little kids running around, young parents beaming with pride and love. We checked out the animals, walked around a bit. Such a beautiful contrast to what we had just experienced. Eased our minds, fed our souls.

In Conclusion:

When 2021 rolls around we should delete 2020 from the records. It should be wiped out as if it never existed. Should never be written about in any history book, should never be spoken about. 

From Kobe Bryant's death on January 26 to the talk about Covid-19 in February, to full blown Covid in March, through the 200,000+ deaths, the endless suffering of broken people, jobs lost, homes lost, the cold indifference of President Fuckstick and his corrupt cabinet, to the day Joe and Carol tested for Covid-19  and beyond.....................

2020 has been the most miserable, fucking year anybody has ever experienced. Our lives have been stolen from us. There will be no "new normal". Only a new abnormal.

Anybody who contributed to the misery, who could have lessened it but did not, should die a twisted, grisly death.

275

We wrapped up "Cheers" last night.

11 seasons. 275 episodes. We would have finished it faster - we were cranking them out in the beginning - but the Sox came back, Carol had to feed her addiction and Cheers took a back seat.

There was not one episode out of 275 that did not make us laugh. Not one.

That is not hyperbole, it is not a lie, it is not the delusional ranting of a demented man who's brain has atrophied to the point that I can hear and feel it rolling around inside my skull.

That show was medicinal for us. We started watching it early on in this fucking pandemic and it made us laugh. Allowed us to forget.

The main characters were our friends. The song was an anthem for today.

The humor was delicious but the appeal wasn't just that. The show was big on empathy. Characters did stupid things, made mistakes, got themselves in trouble and we were right there with them. We felt for them. And then they made us laugh.

That is a tough balance for any show to strike but Cheers did it magnificently. And consistently.

Christ, man - the show made us feel good.

The last episode ended in just the way we wanted it to. Sam, Carla, Frasier, Norm, Cliff and Woody sitting around the empty bar having a somber - but funny - conversation. A conversation that operated on two levels.

It addressed what was going on in the story but it was also clearly evident that they were also addressing the end of the show.

Must have been a tough one to film. I could be wrong but I think there was genuine camaraderie between all the actors.

The show was special, man.

I don't know what we are going to do now. I felt a real sense of emptiness at the end of the episode. Sam winds up alone in his bar, a stranger knocks on the locked door, Sam takes a couple of steps towards the door and says "Sorry, we're closed". And walks back towards his office.

The show aired from 1982 to 1993. I was 28 when it first aired, 39 when it ended. Keith was 2 when it started, Craig wasn't even born. Although we were with Craig recently and he told us he remembers hearing the Cheers theme song when he was in bed. He was 10 when it went off the air. Cool memory.

When I was a kid I remember hearing the theme song to Petticoat Junction when I went to bed. Those memories stick.

It is a real treat when something comes back at you from your past and soothes your soul. No doubt it affected us differently now than it did then.

We are in a different stage of our lives, the world is a different, unrecognizable place. It was even better this time.

I have been trying to watch new and different stuff during this fucking pandemic. Using the time to expand my horizons. But Cheers was the right choice. By a long shot.

Not looking forward to tonight. Don't know what we are going to watch. We'll find something but I doubt it will replicate the empathy, humor and humanity of that show.

But I am glad we made the commitment to watch Cheers.

It made us happy.

Football

Yesterday was the culmination of the slow return to sports for me.

Football.

Of course I watched the Chiefs and the Texans on Thursday night, Game 1 of the 2020 season. That was inevitable. Had to juice up my desire. But yesterday was THE PATS.

It all started months ago with NASCAR. It came back and I watched it with fresh eyes. Loved it. Then hockey and baseball and basketball (I don't remember the order and it doesn't matter). Golf, tennis and football.

One day weeks ago I watched Formula 1 racing in the morning, the Bruins at noon, Red Sox later on and NASCAR after that. Spectacular.

The weirdness keeps me on edge. The safety protocols, athletes opting out, the bubbles, cardboard cut-out fans, virtual fans. 

No fans. I hate that the most. No fans. It's like a neon sign flashing Covid-19, Covid-19, Covid-19.

Watched the Kentucky Derby last weekend. No fans. Are you kidding me? A sport with the maximum amount of pageantry and tradition and there was no one in the stands. That really got to me.

Point is thank fucking Christ for sports, but you cannot get away from the state of the world today no matter how hard you try. Relentless gloom and doom.

It took me a full quarter to get my shit together watching THE PATS yesterday. Could not focus after all the pre-game anti-racism focus and the no fans thing. Add to that my lifelong love of football and gratefulness that it is back and my mind and emotions were erratic.

But from the second quarter on I was one happy little boy.

Such a sweet escape. Watching a game that I love, a game I can lose myself in for 3 hours. The value of that has increased exponentially in this fucked up world.

Watched a chunk of The Buccaneers game too. I have forgiven Tom Brady. He has the right to live his life. I don't think he was happy in New England towards the end. But there was an evil piece of my brain that enjoyed seeing him fail yesterday.

I will never be the passive good boy you want me to be.

I am watching sports warily. I don't trust this world. I did not think baseball was gonna make it, but they have gotten this far. I don't think football is gonna make it but I hope I am wrong.

Therefore the intensity of my focus is amplified. I do not take these games for granted. It could all go away again.

Shit, I have watched a ton of Red Sox games with Carol and they suck. But I still dig it.

Sports is back. I am shooting that good stuff directly into my veins.

Football is back. The ultimate salve for my wounded soul. 

You Better Duck

 "But stupidity is one of two things we see most clearly in retrospect. The other is missed chances".

From "11/22/63" by Stephen King

I've Made A Decision

Found a new series I've been watching on Showtime called "We Hunt Together".

Deliciously dark and well done. You can check it out or watch "The Sound of Music" again; it's up to you.

I watched episode 5 yesterday. In it, one of the main characters, Baba, tells a story about his childhood in a village in a third world country. Rebels raided the village. They gave his brother a gun and told him he had a choice - to kill either their father or their mother.

He refused, so the rebels killed him. And gave the gun to Baba. He is still alive as an adult so obviously he killed one of his parents.

Very dark.

Got me thinking - which parent would I kill?

I would kill my mother.

Tough as my father was, my mother was the one who smacked us around. My father never hit me.

One of my favorite memories is as a teenager when my mother slapped my face and I just stood there looking at her. She said "You look like you hate me. I can see it in your eyes". I did.

Not always, I just hated her for doing that. 

I hated her when we had to clean the house, especially fall and spring cleaning. Oh my god she was a bitch at those times. Twice a year. Me and my brother and my father did our chores with our tails between our legs as Revia Hitler maniacally bossed us around and threw tantrums when our efforts were not good enough for her. Raving fucking tantrums.

Please understand. I loved my mother. She was my mother, after all. And she took pretty good care of us. And she had a hard life - six heart attacks, the sixth being the fatal one. 

But human relationships, especially family relationships, are shaky; there are plenty of dark spots hidden within the light.

My father was a lot softer than he let on; my mother was a lot darker than she let on.

I felt bad for my mother because I think a lot of her unhappiness was caused by my father. I have no real insight into their relationship other than a sense that something was off. It's not like my dad smacked her around or screamed at her. He was just old school and treated women in a condescending way.

Although I remember one incident when they got to yelling at each other and my mother walked out of the house. We had no idea where she was going. She walked down to the local McDonald's and sat down. 

She was trapped. She had no driver's license, no way to get out of this situation, this marriage. She did not know what to do or where to go or who to turn to. I felt so bad for her.

She painted the picture of the happy housewife loving to cook and entertain and keep an immaculate house, but maybe she wanted more than that.

My dad was going through her stuff after she died and found an envelope or bag with $700 in it. She had been stashing money aside. For what? Escape? My father was a bit unnerved by that.

Anyway, the point I am making is if you need them, you can find reasons to kill a parent. Many is the time I have suddenly turned around to find Keith or Craig standing behind me with meat cleaver raised as they self-consciously say "Hey Dad, look at this new kitchen utensil I bought. Isn't it cool? A real time saver".

And I say "Jesus Christ, how many meat cleavers does one kitchen need?"

I was not the favorite of my mom or my dad. Always felt to me like I was a bit of a disappointment in their eyes. But my mother was more vocal about it. She said some hurtful things to me over the years, comments that were not designed to bolster my self image.

Although there were times when she was supportive, or at least tried to give me some guidance. Her favorite comment was "You are your own worst enemy", which was true. Still true today.

My father's comments were a bit more esoteric. Like "Are you ever gonna use your head for anything besides a hat rack?"

So that's it. That's the logic for choosing which parent to kill (with a heavy dose of superfluous information thrown in for good measure).

I thought this blog entry would be kind of fun to write.

It wasn't.

A Wonderful Aroma

 "A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin".

H.L. Mencken

Covid Fucks Up Everything

ONE: 

The Bruins lost in Round 2 of the Stanley Cup playoffs.

Got their asses kicked. 4 to 1.

Watched a ton of the B's last year, up to and including Game 7 of the finals - which they lost. When this  season began I told everybody who would listen that the B's were gonna be on a mission, gonna kick some ass.

They were and they did. Up until the fucking coronavirus disaster, the Bruins had the best record in the NHL. I am convinced that if the season was not interrupted they were headed to another championship.

Yes, Tampa Bay went through the same shit, but I think all this disruption affects different people differently. Being away from their families, worrying about their families and themselves, differences in routines and practices, no home ice.

Athletes are creatures of habit. They need routine. The Bruins were playing in August, for Christ sake. And they looked like a different team than they did in March.

TWO:

J.D. Martinez is hitting .227 with 4 home runs. In 2019 he hit .304 with 36 home runs. In 2018 he hit .330 with 43 home runs. Yes, I am aware that he cannot watch tape and he says that is having an affect.

He is too good a hitter for that to be the only excuse. I believe he is a student of hitting, much like Ted Williams was. He knows hitting. Everything Covid-related has got to have him off balance. Including living in the park during home series.

THREE:

Carol and I have a get out of jail free card, thanks to crazy unemployment benefits. We have been around long enough to know we cannot piss it away. Could be our last chance at dignity and freedom.

We have lined up a couple of contractors to work on the house. Two guys we trust completely. References from people we trust.

The plan is to make whatever repairs we can afford, put the house on the market in the spring, sell it, buy a mobile home flat out - no mortgage - and slip comfortably into full retirement. We deserve that.

Both contractors warned us that they are flat out. Everybody is looking at their house and saying "Hey, let's get that fixed". 

We lined them both up over a month ago. The landscape dude finally showed up last week and ripped all the shrubs out from in front of the house. Looks much better.

The other dude is going to repair and stain the deck that faces the driveway, repair the deck on the other side of the porch, completely rebuild the deck that rotted off the back of the house, replace a basement window, and fix the screen door that was improperly installed by another dude.

He hasn't started yet but he is keeping us posted. I want all that done before winter sets in. He said it won't take him more than a week. So it will probably get done.

This fucking disease fucks everything up. Killing people, causing endless suffering and worry, killing businesses, disrupting lives, disrupting sports, handcuffing homeowners.

2020 is a lost year. It will bleed into 2021. I do not need this shit. 

Nobody does.

6 Days

Circumstances have conspired to give me a mini vacation.

I couldn't be happier.

Had to go in to work on Tuesday, not my normal day. The main woman in the office, without whom the office could not survive - she's been there 31 years and knows everything - had been out for almost a month. Took a vacation to the Sturgis Bike Rally then had to quarantine when she got home.

Shit was backed up. I had to help her dig out from under.

I got to trade Tuesday for today. Pretty fucking sweet.

Because of Labor Day, I don't go back to work until Thursday.

Six days of peace, love and understanding, baby. 

I now have a road map of how to work on my head. Furlough gave me a chance to work on myself. I got me a rhythm. Some of it was good, some of it was imperfect.

I will get better.

The main goal is peace. I hunger for 6 days of peace. And I shall have it. Today has been an excellent start. 

Trying to make peace a recognizable experience for my soul so it will adapt to it through osmosis.

I will read a lot, I will write a lot, I will study a lot, I will exercise a lot.

Working on my fat belly again. I have been weak and ineffective in that area.

Had me an appointment with the melanoma Doc last Thursday. I was diagnosed in 2016 and have been seeing him ever since. I am down to annual check ups now but they are intense.

I strip down to my underwear and he examines every square inch of my body for nastiness. I was fat in 2016, I am fat now. Every time I see him I am embarrassed, and I tell myself next time I will be skinny.

Then I waddle into the next appointment.

My main goal for the next 6 days is to establish a habit of eating right and exercising diligently. Carry that into my normal routine.

Lately I have been hit or miss. Hot summer did not help. Generally I am committed to exercising and am pretty good about getting it done; I never give up and always come back to it if I backslide. Even though I am 66 and my back, knees, neck, and knuckles all hurt.

Especially the knees. Shit, that's new, man. Painful as hell. Wearing a wrap/support on the right one whenever I leave the house. Treating them with ice and a cool little vibrating thingy that I have. Helps, but not enough.

Gonna see the Doc at the end of September.

But I digress.

6 days, man. 6 more days to work on myself without having the distraction of work.

A tiny oasis of opportunity.

Fucking love it.

Rolling Fatigue

 Jesus Christ, how tired can one man get?

I succeeded at some brain reorientation when I was furloughed. This did not become apparent to me until I went back to work for Act II (Act I was the period from the date of hire to fucking covid furlough).

I went back in as a lion. Take no prisoners, eat no shit. I will not get into details but suffice it to say I am much more aggressive than I was during Act I. This has created much more peace for my beleaguered soul.

I am calm on the two nights preceding the early mornings. 5:30. Jesus, man - nobody should ever have to get up that early.

In the olden times I would stress out from early evening until bedtime. "Oh my god, I have to get up at 5:30. I fucking hate this. I fucking hate my life". Ruined those nights entirely.

Now I don't think about it. You can choose to disbelieve me, and I wouldn't blame you, but I do not think about it. I enjoy my nights and I go to bed whenever I want. Sometimes 11:30 or 12:00, never earlier than 10:30.

I still wake up at 3 or 4 and cannot get back to sleep, but instead of lying there furious at the world, I practice deep breathing. It rarely gets me back to sleep but it allows me to rest peacefully on my $15,000 mattress.

Here's the rub. I do wake up at 3 or 4. Seven days a week, consistently, since I reported for duty for Act II. It has created a rolling fatigue that accumulates and tries to incapacitate me. 

The fact I can even function blows my mind. I am literally the walking dead. Although I experienced a little crack in the facade, a chink in the armor on Wednesday.

Dealing with a customer at the end of the day and my brain shut down. Handling a simplistic transaction that I can normally do with my eyes closed - I almost didn't get through it. To the point that just printing out the documentation overwhelmed me. Got more and more angry until I said, quite loudly and distinctly - "what the fuck is wrong with this computer?"

The woman who has served as my mentor was standing close by. She punched me in the shoulder and touch-screened the right button. The document printed and I was saved.

Strange days indeed.

I have changed, no doubt. For the better. But still, a dark evil lurks just below my semi-equanimity.

I have this vision. If I was able to open up the top of my skull and allow all the worst thoughts to escape (forever), you would see hideous, abhorrent, and grotesque things flying erratically on broken wings towards the next dark destination.

And you would vomit.