If it’s Saturday and you’re reading this… I’m kind of kidding. But hey, if it’s Saturday and you’re reading this, what the fuck? How did you do that? Inquiring minds want to know. Unless you’re a week behind on your reading. If you’re a week behind on your reading, I’m awfully sorry. I’m about a year behind on things, so I empathize.
I need a year of cash so I can take the time and invest it in all the things I should have done already. Redo the garage. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Work on the garden and the yard. Again, you just don’t. Suffice it to say, unlike in It’s A Wonderful Life, instead of “every time a bell rings, an angel gets its’ wings,” it’s more like everywhere a bird shits, a thistle gets its’ roots. I keep pulling the damned things out of the yard. I need some pesticide. Birds are pests, right? One of my brothers-in-laws told me a brand name to buy that works, I’m going to get some if I can afford it, except it only kills the thistles. Fix the bathroom floors. They really need to be ripped up and new flooring needs to be down. Like tile, or the cheap vinyl tile, I have to have enough money to do it though, and since I don’t… you get the picture. What I really want to do is, metaphorically speaking, smell the roses. There’s no time.
Ringo Starr (one of the Beatles, kids, they were a kind of popular singing group back before you were born), did a solo album in which he sang “Stop And Take the Time” (to smell the roses). Sadly, life isn’t slowing down for me and I don’t have the time to do that. And I don’t have any roses. And if I did, there’s another band almost 25 years later that did a song about that. What I want are carnations. I’m not allergic to roses, but the thorns suck, and they cost too much. Unless you own the bush and you deal with the thorns, of which, “Every Rose Has Its’ Thorn.” But only one, according to the more modern song. The group is aptly named Poison, but I think I’ll reserve my poison for another kind of plant.
I was kind of wishing I wasn’t so old, but I’m more familiar and appreciative of another song, it’s more indicative of the story of my life, expressing what happens when you don’t have time to groom the world of your rosebushes and it all turns to thorns and vines. When that happens, “Welcome to the Jungle,” “baby.” From a year earlier than the song about the thorns. By a band named about the roses, and our lovely second amendment right provision.
Last night, if you’re reading this on Sunday, it’s actually Sunday and I’m writing because I didn’t have time to post anything for a scheduled post, that’s right, NOT ghost posting today, we went outside and set off fireworks because we’re in Indiana, not in idiotic Chicago. Take THAT, fucking run-on-sentence police! I recall last year when my brother-in-law tried to get arrested for having his own fireworks show. But this year we did it legally for being a few miles east, which makes absolutely no sense to me. It’s like Chicago isn’t in America. No fireworks and no second amendment rights. Fucking idiot politicians. Heaven help us if Clinton wins, and hell help us if Trump wins. Or vice versa, who the fuck knows, which is which and I’ll take help from whoever is helping. By which I’m saying we can’t win.
But for now, we enjoyed fireworks last night and this morning there will be pancakes. Hopefully today, sometime after pancakes, we can go back to the jungle, where I’ve got a literal machete if I need it, to take on the enemy: my house. I’m gonna need some alcohol. How soon I need it will depend on if the family or the in-laws start in on either me or each other. Or how stressful the drive is. Or how bad the jungle is when we get back.
I hope you can tame your jungle and find and exercise your freedoms. Today, tomorrow, but also moving forward. I’ve exercised my freedoms and worked my ass off at the in-laws in the outdoors. Grandpa had lots of work for us all, hooray. But it’s done and it’s almost time to go home, also hooray.
So now, exercising my freedom, I’ve “Got no time to pack my bags, my foots outside the door. I got a date, I can’t be late, for the high hopes hailla ball!” That is to say, I’m going to crank up some Led Zeppelin and relax until they’re ready to get home.