I’m taking over this blog for a while, so get used to it. It’s not being renamed because I’m as confused as the owner, but I want to write about other things. If I was going to put a new name on it, I would use my mantra – Fuck it. I’m old.
Yup, you heard that right. I’m old enough to say what I want anywhere I want anytime I want. I’ve earned that right, one of the few rights I still have. Some damned political know it alls who bend to every whim that blows by their hairless heads have removed my other earned rights. They are taking them aware faster than I can name them, but I’m not going to waste my words and time on those jack wads. I’ve got other things on my mind.
Shit. Where did I place my mind this time?
Found it. On the shelf in the refrigerator. Don’t ask.
I’m 136 days away from retirement and I’m scared shitless. What the hell am I going to do with all my free time? I’ve worked three and four jobs at the same time for the past thirty years. I started working at 16 or before. Hell, I don’t remember. I’m normally so busy I don’t have time to worry if I’m coming or going. So tell me, please. What the hell am I supposed to do with twenty-four free hours every day?
You can only clean so much, and besides, I’m so out of practice cleaning I wouldn’t know where to begin. I have dust that used to be dinosaurs and a few former relatives. I have boxes of photos and other things that belong to my in-laws and parents and they died well over twenty years ago. Ooops. They could be part of the dust. At one point in my much earlier years, I was a bit OCD about cleaning. I found things that were more fun and more exciting and paid better so I left the house cleaning to the house fairies. Then I found out they are the reason behind the disappearing Patrón. You can’t hide things from a house fairy or its family.
Yes, my mind tends to wander. Welcome to my world of ADD. A friend told me one time I needed to be tested and diagnosed with ADD. I said, “Why?: What difference would it make in my life?”
If I could remember how to garden, I could spend an hour or two a day doing that. I do know that it involves dirt, and to be honest, I haven’t done dirt in over forty years. Besides, my neighbors probably don’t like zucchini.
I could teach, but the things I know how to do can’t be taught in any school and the girls on the streets are already pros.
So that leaves me here, writing, bitching, and searching for what to do with the other 23.89 hours of my day.
If you have any ideas, please send them my way. If you include a bottle of Patrón, I’ll put you in my will.