Joe

If I went by Joseph instead of Joe, I would have been rich and retired long ago.

Joseph is a good name. I like it. Rather distinguished. I never should have gone by Joe. I should have insisted that people call me Joseph. If I did they would bow and scrape before me. Give me money and adulation.

I'm pretty sure if I went by Joseph I would have ended up a successful author of fiction, wallowing in wealth and fame, my picture on millions and millions of dustjackets.

Joe is too common. It gets reduced in gravitas by cliches. People say shit like:

Cup o' Joe

G.I. Joe

Joe citizen

Your average Joe

Joe sixpack

Joe schmoe

Joe blow

Not your average Joe

STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How about Joe Cool! I like that.

Jesus' father went by Joseph. I should have taken a cue.

It's too late now. Can't do anything about it.

Maybe I should change my name completely. Kristaps Porzingis - that is a fucking name. I wouldn't mind borrowing that one. You can practically sing that name - make up a song about it. Maybe a poem. It commands attention.

How about Divine Deablo? Holy shit. I prefer it be spelled Diablo, but most people would not make the distinction anyway. Jesus Christ - talk about dueling first and last names. Beautiful.

Call me what you want to. I don't care. I'm too tired to care.

Just don't call me Joey. Only Carol is allowed to call me Joey. She gets away with it.

She's tougher than me.

Pat Sajak

Even fucking Pat Sajak is retired.

I am not. Is there any fucking justice in the world?

Actually, I never want to retire. What would I do with my time? I'm the kind of person who likes to keep busy. I'd be bored if I retired.

I fucking hate people that say that.

They are full of shit.

She Said He Said

She said "Try as I might, I just cannot connect with you."

He said "That's because I am not here. I maintain a physical presence but my spirit has died. When you get close, when you take a look inside, you look into a void. And that is unsettling."

She said "You're fucking weird."

Hard Truth

 A casual approach to life is a criminal offense punishable by death.

That Role

 I have never been larger than life.

I'd like to grow into that role before it's too late.

In A Nutshell

In a nutshell, the problem is: My life has changed, but I have not.

I have a new home, a new life, a GRANDSON, some money in the bank - and still, I torture myself with anxiety and worry.

I greet happiness with doubt. Strange approach, eh? I haven't figured out a way to make this gratefulness thing work for me.

There are problems, there will always be problems - but it is nonsensicle to poison the good times - the worry free moments - the precious and beautiful moments - worrying about shit that has to be dealt with, and worrying about what solution I will come up with. Making myself unhappy when happiness should consume me.

Let purity be. Revel in the moments. Christ, my life is at least 85% better than it was 7 months ago - that is a significant improvement. I should wake up every day dancing the tarantella. I should literally leap out of the recliner and dance. I should sing Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin' to Emmy Lou and Patsy who would, of course, watch me with rapt attention and applaud at the end.

Some days I do that. Today I did that. I feel magnificent today. Absolutely fucking magnificent.

That's a hopeful sign, folks. But I don't want to mislead you. Again.

My first post in here was on May 5, 2011. Thirteen fucking years ago. There is a lot of good stuff in here - creative stuff, interesting opinions, entertaining rants, thought provoking points of view. But by far, what dominates in here over and over again - is whining. Heaping helpings of whining. Enormous amounts of whining - record breaking whining.

And empty promises. Empty promises trail whining by a nose.

So I will make no promises. I will lay out facts.

This house will not allow me to be unhappy. The sun is shining today and this house is filled with life and light. Every window is open. Birds are chirping relentlessly. There is a breeze. It is idyllic. This is why I danced. This is why I sang. And this happens a lot.

Jackson does not allow me to be unhappy. I am with him a lot. He is the ultimate definition of happiness and hope. He's a little over two months old. He makes the present magical, and he IS the future. He melts my heart.

Despair kills hope. Happiness kills despair. So happiness makes hope possible. And hope makes change possible. 

"So you're telling me there's a chance."

A Safe and Sensible Way To Approach Life

 "Nobody loves me but my mother, and she could be jivin' too"

From Nobody Loves Me But My Mother, by B.B. King