My Memorial Day Weekend

First of all, it should have been 4 days off, but we got the new season kicking off next week at work, so I got screwed out of a day.

We have no plans. Zero. That doesn't bother me anymore. I don't have a burning need to do anything. It's good to just have three days to read, write, watch sports, movies, programs - in perfect peace. Although I did try to put together a road trip to see Billy Bob Thornton and The Boxmasters.

Billy Bob Thornton, you ask? WTF? I like the guy, I like his acting, I thought it would be cool and unique to see his rock band. In a bar. With alcohol and family. I sent out invites, but renegged the very next day because we went to dinner the night before, I walked around a lot without crutches and the knee hurt. So bopping to a rock show didn't seem prudent.

Unfortunate. I am jonesing for Unique because as I get older my life gets more and more like unflavored oatmeal. Boring. Bland. Colorless. Drab. Dull. Mind-numbing. Monotonous. Pedestrian. Tame. Tedious. Wearisome.

Get the point?

The timing of the long weekend is good for me because I am on the verge of going ballistic. I'm talking about smashing my fist through walls. Breaking my fucking skull open. I rarely get 2 days off, never mind three. I gotta get my head straight. I gotta get my head straight. By Monday fucking night.

A normal person would come up with a plan. I am not normal. I hate plans, budgets, rules, regulations. If I do make a plan, I can't stick to it.

But I gotta do something. Gotta get the ball rolling. Gotta get off the schneid. Gotta move forward.

Keeping it vague, baby.

How's this? Gotta lose weight, gotta get the knee healed, gotta retire, gotta fix my brain. No idea how I am going to do all those things, I just know I gotta do them. 2022 has thrown a voodoo curse my way so far, but I am pure of soul and the pure always win. Right?

I started the weekend off brilliantly. I knocked off the Remy book yesterday, so today I had to decide what to read. The choice was important because I gotta get some kind of peace of mind thing going on. I have to.

I chose Dixie City Jam by James Lee burke. Brilliant. As always with Burke, I was immediately sucked in, my heart and soul and mind were leaking contentment, my breathing regulated, my heartbeat stabilized. I was happy.

I cooked breakfast for Carol and myself - omelettes, thick, maple bacon, toast. We watched the first game of a Red Sox doubleheader. We'll watch the second game in an hour and a half. Before that, I will exercise the fucking knee. Probably end the night with the Sopranos.

I am getting me some peace today. It will get harder as the days accumulate because pressure will mount. But I will do the best I can.

I won't be getting as much peace as Ray Liotta is but, frankly, I am not ready to go there yet.