All in Time Due ((Part 8))

Preface: I am actually being read! The other day, a friend of mine mentioned, to me, that his sister had read this blog and had questions. Did you really dance naked in Maui? Yes, we did. Also, hello 🙂

Then, randomly, Lauren decides to read. Likes it. Thinks the writing is good. Sandra, the excellent, also read it. She too likes it, thinks the writing is GREAT. Dude, this is amazing. Why? Because when I started this thing, I thought, for some reason, that I’d be about the only thing reading this all. Why, again? Didn’t people read some of the Terrorism and Surveillance stuff and comment positively on that too? yes, but some of them said nothing, because, if I’m right, about even half of it, then it WOULD be a good idea to keep away.

Still, they read.

All of this to say: THANK YOU!

Alright, let me start this thing before I never do. Or never get to doing so. This being said, recall that this is the sister piece to Part 3 of this series, the one about being an idiot, sometimes. In that piece, I discussed a particular dehydrated hiking story of mine. I have told this story many times. As such, I totally expect to hear things like what Lauren said this morning:

“It’s interesting to hear you tell the stories I’ve heard for years in a more formal format.”

Oh? How FORMAL.

Once again, LET ME GET STARTED!!!!!

IMAGE OF AN ELECTRONIC HORSE

|–0–0–|

| (* *) |

(-~~~-)

ELECTRONIC HORSE,

AIN’T HAPPY ABOUT THE BASKETBALL GAME

SAYS THE WHOLE THING SHOULD BE DIFFERENT

much MUCH MORE HORSE ()like

Is there a difference between making mistakes, and making bad decisions? In general, when we make a mistake, it is-may be followed, at some point, by some level of regret. You know, when you get old old enough to sit down and think about things. Call it 14 years old on a sunny afternoon in a parking lot, drinking cheap soda from a massive Styrofoam vessel. As for making the wrong decision, we are often left to rationalize what we did, and how we may not DID in the future. Still, I wonder if there IS any difference between the two. And if not, then why do we even let regret (in) (in) the first place? That thing happened, dude, and we can’t change that. I went to school for a LONG TIME. That happened. I kayaked, with Vinh, to the pinnacles of ignorance, in Maui, and that too happened. The THINGS that have happened to you; happened. And this cannot be, at least not at this time, changed. Especially not by you. I mean, YOU? Don’t split my sides. Also, don’t kick your own.

And by this, I mean: please don’t hit your kids. And don’t hit yourself, too hard, for the things you’ve done wrong. Of course, this does NOT include ACTUAL HEINOUS THINGS. Kick, kick. Kick, away. But, there is a point? There’s always a point, something beyond every question. And of this, I wonder:

WILL THERE BE A FINAL QUESTION?

AND

WHAT IS SUCH AN ANSWER TO THIS LAST QUESTION?

WILL THERE EVEN BE AN answer??!!

I hope so. Because I tend to prefer the world MORE answers than questions. I’m not sure if you’re the same, but I hope you’re whatever way works best, for you. I , personally, tend to sway far and away from crime. As, naturally, I prefer LESS crimes, LESS enforcement, LESS criminals. [INSERT CRIMINAL GRINS]. So, Dr. Distracted, is this goddamn thing about crime? Is it about philosophy, and her musings? No. Well, I mean yeah. But. Yeah. This piece, in case you were sans listening before, up there, is a continuation of Part 3, of this series. Meaning: MY intention here is to outline my life as an idiot. I do NOT BELIEVE myself to be an ACTUAL IDIOT. Quite the contrary, mate. But, I do make some REALLY STUPID DECISIONS. Should I regret them?

Yes, because THEM is ALL yo PROBLEMS!

I’M KNELT DOWN INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS

NO COFFEE SHOP

JUST WAY TOO MANY MOSQUITOES

NO ONE CAN SPELL MANY WITHOUT MAY

Many, minus N, times, I have done something, dumb. Just plain Why did you let me do this kind of stuff? REALLY?, I shouldn’t blame in any other direction than myself. I am here to accept what happens to me, and the blame I feel as though % I deserve. So, randomly, I will provide here a bunch of examples of moments in my life that I can now see, missed the mark. Like that one time I was diving into an apartment complex pool as a teenager, from the roof of a gazebo. It was all REALLY COOL, the flips and such. But, then, DIVING. I, dove head first into the 8 foot smack, that I wear to this day. I am outing my flaws here, but if you scope out the very front of my hairline, I have been adorned with a stupid sign that consists of nothing more than a scar where the bottom of the pool hit the bottom of my bright moments, my head too. I bled a little, and wouldn’t know a concussion if it knocked me up, but was ultimately fine. Still, I could be in a lot worse of a condition than I am today.

AN ENTIRE SONG

Another one? Nope, I’m out. That’s as bad as my life has been. Oh, wait. .. .. There’s that one time, and I’m not so sure why so much of this happened in apartment complexes (recall: I grew up in a trailer park), but, there’s that one time I swam across a gator infested pond, quickly. In the manner, of:::eat me. Dude. Alligator Dude. Chomp my bum. Fortunately, these gators were docile. Maybe they knew that there wasn’t any money involved? ONLY the thrill of almost dying. Either way, Some of us have this rather DAFT will-disposition whereby we feel as though we need to almost die all the time. Perhaps it has something to do with defining life through its opposites? Something like: Been there, done that, the shirt. Wait, what? Now, in case you question me, Chris Day was there for both of these events. He wasn’t doing either of these things, so I really should be questioning his loyalty as a friend. I mean, why would this guy sit by and watch some gingerbread maniac go after death all the time? Does HE know the difference between a mistake and a bad decision? And, once again, IS THERE EVEN A DIFFERENCE?

LIL’ WAYNE HOLDING A LIL’ WAYNE FIGURINE HE WON

FOR BEING LIL’ WAYNE

CARTOONS PLAYED IN THE BACKGROUND

IN CASE ALL THE LITTLE KIDS GOT BORED

got bored.

Because, I’m COMPLETELY into music now, I write all the time. And, because of this, certain artists have lost all points to me, BECAUSE OF THE BOREDOM. Andre Belle. Sorry, dude. What was I listening to? And why did it help me through tough times then, only to sound so drab later on? Each song, same. Me, NOT the same. Then, in case you thought I was done with the apartment complexes, so far all three the same, let me draw your third attention. To that one time that I AND CHRIS wore boxer shorts in the pouring rain, sans shoes, no personal identification, and a cop, one we knew REALLY well, one I hope is still OK today, saw us, stopped us, and commented on how if we weren’t actually in possession of any shorts we could be in A LOT of TROUBLE. Well, we pressed, our underwear, into shorts. We lied, back when I used to do that, and said that they were, in fact, shorts. Oh, our lack of shoes? No need to worry, we just didn’t have any.

IMAGES OF COMPULSIVE HONESTY

BROUGHT TO BY A BOWL

OF AGING CEREAL

We COULD have been ARRESTED, MAN! But, we knew this blue. We didn’t, have anything to worry about. In the style of Film Noir. But, not for too long. Maybe just long enough to finish this movie? Then there’s that one time that I consumed the 2016 1001 Film’s List. It took me until 2018, when I started my business. Did I start this business from the fuels, and therefore knowledges, of a need-heavy multi-year film binge? Yeah, probably. Back to The Voice:

SOFTLY INSERTED IMAGE OF EDDIE G. EATING A NURDLINGER EGG

UNPURCHASABLE HATS everywhere

Why did I see this, this series of odd films, as a good idea then, and maybe not such a good idea now. Well, that’s for the same reason as anything else. I could have been making my own films, paying better attention to my stability, and keeping better care of my beard, with oils and shit. But, I watched films. My parents watched a lot of movies growing up too. But that’s because they were bums. Shit/people. And shit/people LOVE to waste not only their own time but the times of others. Call it stealing. If only for the joy.

Can wasting time be a mistake?

What about bad decisions?

WE PAN OUT TO SEE MARIE KONDO AS NARRATOR

this FILM IS ABOUT MAINTAINING calm AND JOY

WHILE BEING HUNTED FOR murder AND TAX EVASION

BUT IT’S NO LONGER ABOUT

THESE THINGS (or carrot top)

EVERYONE, INCLUDING LIL’ WAYNE, IS FREAKED OUT

[INSERT: MAN]

[INSERT: ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL WOMEN]

Alright, weirdo, stay on task. Either way, it IS a surprise that I could ever make sense for too long, far. Cents, either way. And TOO. Just think, someday, if I try hard enough, other people will type like this, call it a style, and may even appreciate me for it in real time. Alas, and the similar, I shall be gone by then. OK, Morrissey, calm the fuck down. This reminds me that I repeated “Love me two times, love me two times, baby.” like 50 times today. Things get stuck in my head, accents, and phrases. Regardless, something daring, and brave, and maybe also worthy of being called an idiot for? Dangle. Dangle. .. .. Dangle. I once walked into the same exact Sam Ash Music Store THREE TIMES, fuming, at the hand of a bad experience. I DON’T regret this, but it DOES help you to understand me a little better. The first time I went in, I was there to check out electronic drumsets, for the sake of actually buying one. The guy greeting me said something along the lines of how I actually had to be intending to buy one in order to play them. Well, dude, eat shit. LOL. I was profiled. I HAD been profiled before, but this time was different. I was stressed, had gained a lot of weight (because of the stress), and wasn’t really doing great. So, I said, immediately: That’s not a very welcoming way to invite me into the store. I’ll be leaving now. I left. Went to the car. Sat for like two minutes, and came.

BACK, TO THE STORE

On my second entrance, I asked the same guy why he had treated me like that. He didn’t see the big deal, though he may see it by now, as their sales decline and he heads toward bigger, better, burgers, with less strings. Here, he went on about how he didn’t really think I was there to actually buy a drum set. Well, I was. But, who care. INSERT: S. I was NOT satisfied. My A-Line Bob Hairdo took on a full Karen approach. I left the BBB out of this one, but phone records will show that I thought about it, about including them. This dude NEEDED to feel my pain. He WAS my pain! But, so far we’re at two lightly awkward, OK fully awkward encounters/asynchronous visits to a music store. As such, I finally went to my car to leave. Yeah, right. Not me. I make odd decisions. In this case, I went back, a third time. I noted relevance, at the primary counter, complaining about me. This made sense. He was, with pals. Had I had any friends or co-workers with me, they would have been hearing it too. So, alone, I entered the store. I walked to the counter and said something along the lines of how I’d like to speak with the manager. Well, guess the fuck what. It was HIM! Bagged Douches was the guy I was requesting to speak with, and I had already spoken with him twice, and had, as then, not received any justice at all. Eventually, he asked me what I was looking for out of these encounters. This was a good question. I didn’t know. I told him this, but also said that he shouldn’t talk to customers like that. I could SEE other people, cleaner-looking people, playing the kits.

PEOPLE SHOWERING IN PUBLIC

BECAUSE other PEOPLE DON’T TRUST THE CLEANLINESS OF other PEOPLE

EVERYONE SMELLS SO GOOD

BUT IS ALSO ^^ YOU KNOW ^^ NAKED

And here I was, a drummer of some 15 years. When the guy finally attempted to make things nice, if only to get me to leave, he said, “What’s your name, man?” He had just shared his, with a handshake. Well, when I responded with “For what purpose,” as in “For what purpose do you want to know my name?” he said FORGET IT. He was done. I went out to my car and never returned to that Sam Ash. Come to think of it, any of them. But, I WOULD go to that one in Clearwater. THEY, are OK. In the days when I could have been considered ScEnE, my band-aids and I would be there all the time, checking out things. We loved music. Hell, we LOVE music. Musical equipment too.

STOPPED HERE.

As I wake up, from a car, and get back to proofing this piece, it dawns on me to include YOU, by asking you to reflect on some of the implicit things I’m going on about, here. In which ways are you what’s wrong with the world? And, of these things, which could be stopped, and therefore make the world a better place? Also, IS there a difference between mistakes and bad decisions? What do YOU think? Finally, and even if reflected in your mind only, what are some of the moments in your life that aren’t quite clear? Once again,

MISTAKES V. BAD DECISIONS

“A New Television Series So Good It Should Be On DURING Judge Judy!”

“I Met My Future Wife In This Very Same Courtroom!”

“What The Hell?”

Now, this should be it. But it’s not. I have more. As a kid, I would walk often-all the time-many places. I DON’T consider this dumb. But, It’s definitely between a few mistakes and a few bad decisions. Call it adventurous? I don’t know. I could have been kidnapped so many times. But, I went out. All the time. At all hours, of the day, and night. I would sneak out in the middle of said night to walk alone to that Albertson’s a few miles north from our trailer, to get sodas to sell for profit at school. And, yes, I made a profit. I did this type of stuff all the time. As a lighter form of running away. I was, in essence, always running away. And as I have mentioned before, I still am. Am I still? Yes. I would walk, during daylight hours, after school, all around Pinellas County. As a result, the place got smaller and smaller. I KNEW that I was destined for something else, other places. And, as you now know by now, from reading the Kelly pieces, this turned out to be quite true. By now, also ,, , I have been so many places. Places that it would take a lot of time to truly understand. In more extreme cases, I would ride my bike, day and night, all over the county, sometimes even to St. Pete. From Largo. This is quite the trip on a bike, for a teenager, whose parents were probably getting high and watching Tarantino. By the way, they DID have good taste in films. I WILL give the inglourious bastards

THAT.

FROM DUSK TILL DAWN PLAYS

AS A BABY IS BOTTLE FED

AND IT’S SO FUCKING OBNOXIOUS

Man, I walked. I remember walking from something like 4 years old. At some point, My parents, the originals, had left my sister and I alone in an apartment for days. She NEEDED her diaper changed and WE NEEDED food. So, I, once again, at FOUR YEARS OLD, changed her diaper and went out to get the food. With no money. I can’t remember how successful I was in gathering ‘he wares, but as told by my grandmother, I saved the day somehow. This is not gloating. It is kind of, in a way, living through what should have been the regrets of my parents. Had they had enough empathy for things like regret, they MAY HAVE conducted themselves quite differently. It takes care to care, so those lacking empathy might as well just forget about regrets. It’s good not to dwell, yes, but there IS something to having to CONSIDER whether or not you SHOULD feel regret about something. Otherwise, you might end up nothing more than lower-case letters. The whole of your life might become nothing more than

EVENT A MEETS EVENT B.

Then die, with a capo on the fourth, fret. Oh yeah. And, in speaking about THE SMITHS, perhaps a little further, I almost died once in Montana. Colorado too. Either way, Montana Comes First.

NON-ACTUAL IMAGE OF MOUNTAIN VISTAS // NO ONE AROUND

ACTUAL MOUNTAIN VISTAS // EVERYONE AROUND

AKA

WAITING FOR THE RIGHT PHOTO

MEANS

WAITING FOR THE RIGHT PEOPLE TO MOVE

At the right time, and within the confines of a collection of intersecting days, Austin and I went to see Glacier National Park, to do some drifting, drafting, and, of course, calling of Greg, man. Oh, and hiking. We were trying to get to Sperry Chalet, in the falling snow. If you’ve ever there, then you know how stupid this is. We had taken off quite late in the day too, and the snow was expected to be tough that night. It WAS tough. And, then, by the end of our hike, to a certain camp never found, my jeans had frozen to my legs. I had developed some important onsets, to hypothermia. You know, that thing where your body can’t sufficiently create the warmth necessary to DO IT’S THANG. And so, no thang. Fortunately, Austin was there to save my freaking life. Green tea, setting up the gear, BUILDING A DAMN, YOU KNOW, IGLOO OF SORTS, OUT OF ICE, AN ACTUAL ICE-CAVE. he also provided actual warmth in the form of nothing gay at all. I was cold, man-again. I just couldn’t warm the fuck up. I was chattering. My lips sucked. I sucked. Shit. It was ALL bad. That picture you see on my website’s front page (?) is from this trip exactly, the morning after we made it out, alive. Or so, I guess. I was glad to be out of death’s grips again. I COULD write a whole piece on this experience, but it amounts to: I made a mistake and/or bad decision(s).

IMAGE OF AUSTIN AND I DRIFTING

COLDLY OFF TO SLEEP

NOTHING GAY

Either way, let’s move on to Colorado, that bright and sunny sh, shit-hole. Bright with ignorance and sunny with telling other people how to be, and do. You suck. Oh, and based on my having lived there, let’s call it an extremity of the Midwest, not the West. The sun sets in the West and far-way too many Coloradans complained about THAT, so the sun decided to place the whole thing closer to whatever the hell the Midwest is. Relevantly, I was once called rude, brash, and insensitive by a dumb-ass mechanic in Santa Fe. I attempted to tell him that I probably have Asperger’s, but he was only interested in the tune of his own insecurities. His shop, had broken my new camp-stove, a gift, from Lauren’s Beautiful Mother. And didn’t want to pay for it. Eventually, they paid for it. As such, let’s bring this rant to a close.

A BIKE

HAULING ASS

DOWN A MOUNTAIN

Ballooningly, my next story concerns almost dying by way of a borrowed bike, some bad brakes, and a deficit of helmets. That day, I borrowed my buddy Jim’s mountain bike, not a good one, not ANYTHING state-of-the-art. The art was not STATE, man. So, in borrowed possession of Jim’s inadequate bike, sans helmet, I took off to ride a little bit. As always, I set out to do A and end up doing 3-4 times as many things. Call it A-3.5. When I left out that day, a summer day, I had checked the brakes for, you know, not working. As is my custom before EVERY RIDE. I was, or largely had been, the guy tuning this bike, “For Jim.” I took the condition of these brake as OK, checked them twice, and put pedal to the metal. I headed up the mountain, the one just outside of Lyons. There’s a trail there with a path one can take through a residential area, that leads to a kind of loop. I prefer loops to out-and-backs, as I’m sure many of you do too. All was fine. I made it up the mountain. And then…

IMAGINE FALLING BEING THE SLOWER THING

Interior PS: I came back to this paragraph a full day later. Almost to the hour. It’s hard to tell. The rain is tremendous.

Well, when I got to the trail portion, that portion of the loop beyond the residential sections of the ride, I took off! It felt good to be on a mountain bike again. I had ridden BMX heavily as a kid, but hadn’t touched any extreme biking since. Of course, one COULD consider riding a bike in Tampa as an extreme sport. I should know, of course,, as this is where my Road Bike got most of its miles. At some point, I was so into cycling that I rode 136, or so, miles in a single day. But, for THIS loop, the miles were moderate, and doable. Still, it is here that I wondered exactly: what IS doable? I took corner 1, no issue. Built up speed. Then corner 2, some braking. Working fine. No stress. Boom. Not a single sound,. just an effect. The brakes no longer worked. Man, was I was headed to an early grave. At least this is what my mind, once again not protected by a helmet, was telling me. As I descended the trail unable to stop, I failed to do ANYTHING about my plight. Well, I WAS utilizing A LOT of prior experience from BMX to avoid falling while going downhill, picking up speed. But I needed something else, a way out. And, no, I didn’t want to die. So, I spotted a mostly grass field, rocks here and there. Fortunately, not too many THERE. I ejected the bike forward, so as to not have it circle back at me upon spin and/or EJECTION. Then, I, myself, did a sort of STUNT-MAN ROLL, mucho shoulder but not mucho pain. I’m talking REAL PRO WORK. I had road rash, yes, but my head was OK. I hadn’t hit any rocks with it. Mostly, I was fine. Still, this meant almost dying, again, and for real, again.

NO SIR, FREQUENT FLYER MILES do not APPLY TO FALLING OFF A BIKE

ARE YOU SURE?

YES

The point in this one, as I hope you can see, is that wearing a helmet is a must. I can’t believe this even has to be said, but I love saying it, now. A helmet, in the end, may not have saved me. It was the brakes that were the issue. I was joyed to ride, and so did not check them adequately. Talk about a death of convenience. Maybe not so convenient, but a death nonetheless. Still, I am here to write about these things. Call it adventure. Ignorance, both. But almost broth TOO! Bro. Be careful. You COULD have BIT THE BIG ONE. Now, not everything I consider as a mixture of mistake and/or bad decision, has to deal directly with adventure. I’m not always in a kayak looking for whales when bad ideas come about. I could be doing something quite normal, along a relatively safe highway. As such, this brings to my mind the fact that, while mistakes may not be the same thing as bad decisions, they ARE both ideas. What begins as a thought makes it way to how your life is. How it be.

PAUL MCCARTNEY

PLAYING LET IT BE

IN C#

AND IT’S SO FUCKING METAL

Before wrapping this piece in a tattered blanket, let me discuss three more.

[

IMAGE OF MAN:

EARLY TWENTIES, DRIVING FROM THE PASSENGER SEAT OF A BRONCO II

IMAGE OF BOY:

ASKING CUTE NEIGHBOR GIRL IF SHE’S BLIND WHEN SHE TAKES HER GLASSES OFF

STORY OF A TEENAGER:

OWNING ONLY TWO SHIRTS, IN A FIGHT OVER A MUDDY SHIRT

]

CUTS TO FIRST-PERSON FOOTAGE OF SAID FIGHT

Now, the media above will definitely prove that I am weird, might even have a pan-fried brain making pan-fried decisions.

Forever, distracted.

THIS PAGE IS INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK.

In closing, and trying to remain as punctual as can be, let me delve into three final ways I could be considered an idiot. Did you think I was about to go on about the three things listed above? The first is my PhD. Say: what? Yes, when I signed up to do my PhD, I had not by then created any customs for protecting and healing my mental health. As with many people, I just did my best to consider my issues mine, my mental health a thing to be dealt with, someday. I can tell you now, and with experience, this is NOT the way to go. Get therapy earlier. It will enhance your life earlier, which SHOULD increase your chances of leading a life of quality, of life. What a sentence. A LOVELY sentence. Of the good KIND. Well, my issues continued to get in the way. I would procrastinate, do this and that, never the dissertation. When I did finally work on the thing, I wasn’t doing much. I wouldn’t call it progress, but I could call it trying to prove myself to a man who could never understand any of it. I COULD call it seeking approval from jesters and detractors, people of poor and therefore questionable talent, SMALL PEOPLE. Still, I’ll remain on task. My point here is that I SHOULD, there’s that word again, have made a better attempt at clearing my mind before trying to fill it with higher maths and so very many other things. I started my PhD at 30, a time of transition in life, from kid, to youthful venture, to why am I going out for coffee all the time? Either way, 30 is a long time from 18. Had I started therapy Day 1, that would have been some 12 years, less a slave to my issues.

A second thing I could mention here, is how I dated Lauren. So many times, and at so many levels. With pillows. We have a LANGUAGE, can speak to each other without saying anything at all. A look MIGHT indicate what to do next. We just know each other. That well. And THIS, is why we have dated so many times. Our first round was a time of great, and deep, love. Our second, lesser the same. Third, lessen still. Fourth, and in my opinion FINAL, roommates with the benefit of stability AND FRIENDSHIP. Based on what I know about good roommates now, she’s the best. Now, what’s so stupid about dating a woman? A stable one, too? This is where I start to make sense. I know love. I can feel it, and see it, vividly. It’s why I write songs the way I do. But, this comes from years of trying to understand. From my perspective of today, I see that working through issues, and talking, would have saved us a lot of time, and potentially some of the agony. We are certainly friends now, but she and I have moved on. Her, more so than me. And that’s OK. As Elliot Gould says, “It’s OK with me.” At least I THINK that’s what he said. To hell with checking. BC: I’m in the woods. Or is it the weeds?

In both cases, both my highest educational attainment and my longest running friendship, I COULD have done the right thing sooner. My life would have been much better than it currently is. And: has been. Sometimes I do feel that way. But, then. I write. And feel better, if only for the briefs. It SEEMS that my third thing to speak of, therefore, before closing the door on you, entirely, is a theme. And, as I have been writing here, I have been thinking too. Waiting, is a BIG DEAL. Life, from whence I sit, is a masquerade with parking meters always checked and always paid. In so many things I could have waited less, could have mended things more quickly, and with better potential for the future. Some of you, maybe the older ones, will know what I am talking about here. When time becomes more important than life itself, somewhere around that point when youth extirpates sufficiently to bring about qualifiers in both language and status, we start to value things quite differently. We do. I do. We all WILL. And this is coming from a man who still very much lives and feels and does everything else like a child. It’s good GOD to go to the grave with youth in abundance. Trust me.

And question me. Ask me things like:

Is making a mistake the same thing as making a bad decision?

Well, how do you feel after reading this?

Has your mind changed, from it’s initial state?

And when you think about the foolish moments of your own life, do you too find something else in it all? I mean something else beyond the foolishness, and ballyhoo.

THE AUTHOR OF THIS PIECE SO EXHAUSTED THAT THEY

TAKE STEPS TO STOP BEING SO EXHAUSTED

AGAIN,

A bad decision is made from the choices you make, deliberately, and with relatively cold intentions, while I see a mistake as something a bit less sinister. I see her as a mistress who comes into your life, briefly, attaches herself to your life’s path, and then and only to saunter away, apparition style among fogs and blindness. Wait, what? Yeah, I see mistakes as quicker and less intentioned than bad decisions. Here, and in writing about some of my less, well, fortunate circumstances, I have comes to see that, probably as with ANYONE, my life has been a mixture of the two. Diving from that gazebo, ‘s roof? Bad Decision. Definitely. I mean the diving (AKA head-first) part COULD be the mistake. Not checking the brakes more adroitly, well that could be both. As for which story is strictly one versus the other, that’s hard to say. You should try this with your own events, if only to see what I mean here. Words are hard, definitions outright orgiastic. As for regret, what do YOU think? What do you regret? And how does it inform YOUR writing? Your living.

You don’t have ANY. Why?

Either way, I’ll put away the question marks. They came at a discount for this one and so I went a little nuts, as always. It WAS a good sale! Though.

Too Long, Didn’t Wish to Read: Should Have, Could Have, Would Have. Maybe Will HaveAnd Peace.

Look, Ma, No Space!

I’m out.

PS – If you’re not yet sufficiently confused, then GOOD. Otherwise and just in case, let me do you a solid. Parts 1 and 6 of this series concerned my life as student and educator, respectively. Then, in Parts 2 and 7, I went on about love, about how Kelly and I both made it and didn’t. Parts 3 and 8 concern, also respectively, Idiocy Without Question and Questionable Idiocy MORE Deserving of Understanding. In Parts 4 and 9, I plan to write about my life as a musician and lyricist. In Part 9, as yet to be written, I plan to include some of my own, written lyrics. I start just about EVERY SINGLE song that way, from the words. I love the way lyrical music plays. And so I play. It. Finally, in Part 10, the sister piece to Part 5, the one about my life as an adventurer, I plan to write more about my travels. For now, I’ll leave it at this. I don’t wish to spoil any surprises. And, Suffice it to say: it’ll all be about, and include, adventure.

Thanks for reading.

INSERT IMAGE OF A THANK YOU CARD

UNSIGNED

AND SO

WHO THANK WHOM?

DANGLE, DANGLE.

2*PS — It has just dawned on me that proofing is an integral part of writing. As such, I no longer like writing, as much. Also, I am considering making this series such that each topic has THREE PARTS, not TWO. I guess you’ll have to wait, and see. But, please, don’t wait too long. Don’t make THAT mistake.