Struggling

See?  Sometimes the results aren't what you want.  Still. . . it kind of fascinates me.  There is some fun in the randomness of results.  You can always go back and give different or more precise instructions and get something else.  

Still not what I was looking for, but fine all the same.  Some people don't like me doing this--until I make one of them.  Then they are fascinated.  One who hates AI sent me a picture of her dog.  

"Do this one.  Pleeeeez."  

She must think I just push a button.  I know a woman who gets paid $500 to do pet portraits.  She does a lot of them.  I've been wondering if I might not be able to get a 3D printer to print these in oil paints.  I could be the new Andy Warhol.  

People take everything too seriously except what needs to be.  Look at ESPN for instance.  Really?  Endless talk shows about sports.  What couldas and what ifs and ifs.  Who watches this?  I hear the money boys at the gym talking about the same things endlessly.  They are passionate about it.  They are, by and large, republicans.  Wealth Management guys.  That title breaks me up.  

My college roommate and I played sports every day.  In college, we were the hippie team.  We played just to beat the dunderheads.  We were good and we won and won.  They hated us.  Sometimes they got mean.  We weren't mean.  They didn't like getting beat by long haired hippies.  We always thought the intellectual athlete was the thing.  We read books outside of our studies.  

We thought we were cool.  

None of us made money.  Both my college roommate and I worked at the factory.  

Bohemes.  

None of it ended up mattering except for the money.  We didn't change the world for the better.  It is as bad as it ever was.  

You can quit reading now if you don't want to hear about my present life.  I've warned you. 

I was sicker yesterday than the day before.  Other than taking my mother to get her blood drawn, I slept most of the day.  Took plenty of over the counter medicines.  Drank Pedialyte.  Oh, god, how I wished I had someone to go to the store for me.  

"Do you want me to get anything for you, honey?"

Rather, I had to "do" for my mother who cannot do anything anymore.  As soon as I sit down, she needs something.  She sits and moans.  Yesterday I spent hours on the phone trying to get her into an orthopedic spine specialist.  The soonest I could get her an appointment was the end of September.  Doctors outside her "group" won't see her because she had surgery.  When I call her "group," I get someone who works for all the clinics, someone who does not understand what a kyphoplasty is, who doesn't understand that an Interventional Radiologist is not an orthopedic doctor.  

Health care is fucked.  

Many doctors I have tried to get her into are not taking new patients. 

I live in a town with many great health facilities.  I wouldn't want to be going to some general hospital in the small-town Midwest.  You'd be getting the equivalent of Doc on "Gunsmoke."  On the other hand, you'd probably get in pretty quickly.  

I still feel like shit.  I should be getting over this, but I'm not.  It may be the stress.  Even when I try to rest, the nightmare of my present life won't leave me alone.  

I need to go paint the outside wall where the new siding is today before I take my mother to a brain MRI at 12:30 because the new tankless water heater is going to be installed at 8:30 tomorrow morning.  I have to be there for that, too.  The carpenter has still not come back to work.  This is dragging on.  

I have found a way to lose weight, I think.  Eat the same thing for every meal.  Eventually, you won't eat much.  I made a second pot of chicken soup.  I've been eating nothing but chicken soup for days now.  I thought it would help me get over this illness.  Oh, the chicken soup is spectacular, but I am over it after a smaller and smaller bowl.  

I'll be down to my original weight of 8 pounds 8 ounces soon.