Walking Backwards

I took this pic with my iPhone outside the Perkins restaurant.  I'm going to tell you kids, those things sure do work.  I should try to do an entire fashion shoot with it.  The image is built around a lot of AI algorithms, of course, but who cares?  It's not like photo-sensitive silver or dyes is reality, either.  The image is what matters.  All the rest is bullshit.  

And so is Perkins.  I had White Trash Belly, sometime referred to as Hillbilly or Redneck Belly, all the live long day.  I literally felt like shit.  

"You'd better not go to Mexico, Kimosabe.  Your system has become too delicate."

When Old Uncle Joe the manager ambled over to see how the breakfast was, I just said, "fine."  What would have been the point?  The place was full of happy diners.  I assume that is how they feel all the time.  

"Never get sick," they say with a cough and a fart.  Those big old bellies are used to it.  They know nothing else.  Back home, everybody just dips their filthy hands into the open M&M jar sitting out on the coffee table.  

Yea. . . I've become a baby.  But I ain't going back.  

I say I don't know if anyone comes to read the blog anymore, but I do.  I do have one adamant reader--the Google Corporate Office in India.  They read almost every day.  

Thank you faithful reader!

I assume, though, that there are not a lot of options left.  This must be one of the ten independent/non-commercial blogs left in America.  Maybe they are looking to give me an award for "longest running."  

A little positive recognition would be nice.  

Yesterday the tenant came over while I was home.  She wanted me to come look at something in the apartment.  I'm afraid I reacted poorly.  It's just that I can't take one more thing.  

She showed me one more thing.  It may be more than one.  I'm going to have to get a new roof.  My buddy Siggy and I put that one on twenty years ago after Charlie had brought the four big oaks down on top of the old one.  Twenty years is a long life for a roof.  But I'm not sure we did everything according to code.  I might be in for a little sticker shock once they get into it.  

The door on my Xterra won't close all the way now.  The door hinges are loose.  Replacing them will be $1,000 I am sure.  

I get my $2,000 gold tooth this week.  

I need to pay Mr. Tree $3,000.  

I will need to write a big check to the IRS, too.  

And so. . . I got a little down.  Worse.  Taking a soak in the tub, I couldn't think straight.  Everything seemed hopeless, really.  Shit just keeps raining down on me.  It doesn't seem to be hitting anyone else, just me, Old Sad Sack.  

It was mid-afternoon.  The tenant and her friend were going to bring dinner over to my mother's house, so I was freed from cooking for a night.  I decided to head to the cafe for a mimosa.  I would write my cares away.  

At the cafe, however, Sunday girl was not working.  Rather, some skinny, tatted up head banger with big gauge earholes was running the counter.  O.K.  Big smile.  

"How would you feel about making me a big mimosa," I queried.  

Oh, no.  The bartender would be in in a bit, he said.  I nodded and asked if he had a Chardonnay.  He did.  And when he handed it to me, he said, "It's on me for not making you the mimosa."

Well, now!  I wanted to take that as a sign.  Could my luck be changing?

But I woke up to rain this morning that will stick around for at least two days.  Trump is still in office, and the left keeps getting meaner and weirder every day.  

Just put me in an asylum.  

My free time today has been cut in half.  I have to take my mother to her first physical therapy session.  We'll need to leave the house around 2:30.  After that, I guess, I will take her grocery shopping and then come back to her house to cook dinner.  

The girl from the Irish pub is nice, though.  She sent me photos of her and her new boyfriend.  She's very excited.  Yea.  I feel like the cab driver from "Daddio."  

She asked me to come have a drink with her on Tuesday.  That would be fun. . . if it happened around mid-afternoon.  Otherwise, I have a standing engagement.  

It is refreshing, however, to have a new young friend.  I get to re-learn what it means not to give a shit about politics, the past, or the future.  I mean, I'm sure they do, but not the way my battered friends do, all jaded and victimized by time and circumstance.  

Like me.  

Dinner last night was Potato Hot Pot.  Do you know what that is?  I didn't.  Reportedly, it is the National Dish of Minnesota or something.  People go nuts for it up there, I am told.  

Looks like 'tater tots.  I ate most of them.  

This morning, though. . . . 

I have no music for you.  I've kinda lost the music in my soul.  I don't hear music much lately, just the college radio station for a bit here and there.  

The day is grey and wet.  What more can I tell you? 

I just read that walking is good for you, but walking backwards is even better.  That's probably what I need to do.  

Until then. . . .