mon/20211108

Found a broken mirror in the road on yesterday's run which, I suppose, was a useful foreshadowing of the soul-sucking quality of Sunday visits. I want to not be so exhausted by those, but it's become an inescapable truth of the week. On path towards refilling the well – though Monday is always a bit helter-skelter as the reorganization of self towards beloved solitude and away from loneliness around others requires more than a bit of manual rewiring, rewiring in process, at present, to the sound of screaming children on either side as parental units let the air out of the hyper-balloon before shuffling them off to school.

I'm making myself not write about work in this Morning space. Prefer to give you some weird impressions of the sights and sounds jangling about in my brain. Might report back on whether the broken mirror is still on the road or maybe not given that it's highly likely I'll forget to look.

The day awaits.

On finding a grip

In my ongoing self-reeducation in the art of drumming – now out of pure enjoyment rather than of perceived means of locative escape – I'm re-learning everything with traditional grip instead of with the matched grip I learned in my first, institutional(ized) incarnation all those years ago: it's my way of proving to myself that I'm doing this the way I want to do this and that I’m doing it for myself for the first time in far too long. (I will vanquish you, flamacue.)

sun/20211107

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The wood is split and the (surprise!potential) COVID exposure minimal at worst, exposure existing at all thanks to the idiocy of one parent too in the thrall of their own suburban McMansion survivalist "parental rights" (to turn their children into vectors for disease) horseshit to consider the ramifications of said suburban McMansion survivalist horseshit but – fortunately – three of the four splitters of the wood were jabbed and boosted and those that weren't were masked (the fourth being the unfortunate victim of said "parental rights" horseshit – cue random aside, perhaps: the propensity of those who pledge their flag-waving allegiance/fealty to "personal responsibility" and the mythology of their own vast and powerful stores of experience, Facebook-knowledge, and wisdom to always blame others for the problems created by their own horseshit never ceases to amaze me) and splitting said wood on the other side of the large yard because, as I've come to learn over my decade of being around a large family and wishing I were anywhere but but nonetheless liking each of them individually (save one or two who just outright suck), a chainsaw and an antisocial, standoffish attitude is as useful as a kitchen knife to ensure proper social distancing both indoors and out-.

In other news, Kirby is flipping out over the time change and the subsequent delay in his nom-noms.