Unedited Kvetch/not kvetch in Normal entries

Been trying not to kvetch so much.  Word hates when I leave off the subject, the implied “I”, yet common usage in American English is to drop the obvious subject, almost sounds high falutin’ to say I have been … Fuck word in it’s hairless digital ass.

I’ll kvetch a bit here. They moved a hospital bed into my dads room. What’s so bad about that? It’s a studio and they didn’t remove the twin bed so, besides an electric cord running halfway across the room (for tripping over and to work an electronic bed my dad doesn’t under stand) his end table and lamp are half way across the room and there is no room for furniture I was planning on buying.

Yesterday the lady introduced herself and started off with a list of demands. I came back at her with my own list. I just want everything running smoothely. I really haven’t the strength or patience to make thirty runs for tiny items, one fucking list and I’ll get it all at once. I thought I already did that. They also seem confused over what I’m supposed to do and they are supposed to do.

It’s a bad idea to get up in my grill. I’ve been playing crazier than thou and angrier than thou for almost four decades. I’m very good at that game and, by the rules of the playground, I will always let you start it. For every demand the poor lady yesterday had, she thought they were requests, I had an angry answer that I had already arranged that and/or who stole his clothes? Why is there a second bed set up badly for the demented? Within five minutes she was all “I’m just the weekend lady, I’ll check with persons x, y and z”.

Still I’m going clothes shopping today. Pisses me off.

There are other frustrating things going on. If I had one last nerve it would be pretty fucking frayed. I’m telling y’all this. Mostly I present IRL as pretty rational and calm. I haven’t actually said out loud, yet “I’m taking a machete to someone’s ass up in here, go all Voltaire, chop off a cheek and cook it for dinner. Which motherfucker wants piece of this high yeller dawg?”

There’s a woman I long to touch and I’m missing her so much

But she’s Drifting like a satellite --- Where are you Tonight, BD

The sun shines on the ice cairns. I have sweetened a cup of black Starbucks Tribute coffee. The roast is different, I mean the process. Starbucks secret all along has been to overroast their beans. I like my bacon crisp. I assume that over roasting is for people who like their coffee crunchy, and, to be fair, Starbucks built an empire on that very premis. I go to starbucks because 1) They are often the game in town, though one or two ma and pa places survive precisely because they are NOT starbucks 2) I like drive thru’s 3) they usually give me something to bitch about 4) locally, here, they have the best cheese Danish in town 5) Hated or no they remind me of the NW and I am always homesick.

The tribute coffee is good. If they had always roasted beans like this I wouldn’t bitch about starbucks quite as often. Locally it’s almost impossible to bitch about the service. They are not snotty, they don’t correct everything I say, they smile and insist I have a good day. Fuckers.

For reasons I can’t disclose I haven’t seen as much of someone whom I can’t disclose as I would like too. A different set of behaviours takes over when I’m in her non-disclosed presence. It’s impossible to be stressed. It’s impossible to think of much outside her undisclosed alluring scent, her lilting melodic laugh, her --- undisclosed qualities and oh my goodness-ness. The reasons I can’t disclose are beyond either of our control. Given my druthers …

I ducked grandwhelp duty this week. I feel bad about it. It’s possible that soon they will move far away (god I hope so) and I will miss the hell out of hanging with the grandwhelp and his mom. I’m a little too crunchy for whelp setting. I certainly don’t want to go all crazier than thou on him.

It did not escape my attention that the cost of this computer I’ve built would have gotten me round trip tickets to Portland. It’s a bit like smoking one of my pipes. It’s too soon. Smoking a pip would be too much of a tobacco tease and visiting Portland would be too hard to leave. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to smoke a pipe or go on vacation. I’m ok with the pipe, it’s the going on vacation thing, I think when I leave here it will be the last time I leave here. Portland may not be where I go, but, from any other place I’ll be all right to vacation, to leave and come back.

There are nice things I could say about this area; all the mean things really have one core notion; this is not where I want to live. Again I enjoyed growing up here, I’m one of that rare breed that had a happy childhood, the not so happy bits were things I sought out due to boredom and even so it’s a happy thing to have that sort of control over your own destiny. I’m grown up now and this is not where I would chose, if given the option of living anywhere, to live. It’s, at bare minimum, a thousand miles from where I want to live, but, ideally, more like three to five thousand miles from where I want to live. It’s not the towns fault or the townspeoples fault, though, I do wonder what makes people stay here. It’s mostly idle curiosity.

Shit, I’m done, I’m sure there are things I’m supposed to be doing.