Zzzt. Zzzt.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.  I'm not really doing anything.  Some days, I am just listening to that imaginary voice crying, "Next."  

Yet all around me, the ideological struggles continue.  Most of the time, I'm just not having fun.  I'm supposed to go to a happy hour today.  I'd just be gone a bit.  I've cleared it with my mother.  

But I'm not really interested in going.  

My friend from the midwest went to Africa for an adventure safari.  She sends me many photos.  And I think, o.k.  

My mother has become peripatetic.  She shuffles in half steps across the floor from place to place, room to room, a non-ending slow motion misery.  When she sits, there is the incessant sound of jars opening and closing.  Then the t.v.  

In my misery, I have made the mistake of responding to some people in online forums, one writing, one photography.  That should tell you everything.  As Mark Twain said, it is difficult to win an argument with a smart person.  

It is impossible to win with a stupid person.  

I was seeking distraction, I guess.  

I have nothing else this morning.  Nothing at all.