I don’t know what I’m doing.

I should stop telling people how I feel.

GG Alan Jackson Five Iron Frenzy.

When I’m asleep, I don’t dream about this world.

I should probably sell everything.

What’s the point?

I hate this feeling.

When you are not around, I am afraid, uncomfortable, nervous, and sad.

How did you do that?

Nearly everywhere, in almost every circumstance, I do not feel like I fit in. I have always felt this way.

I’m always in awe of how cool you are.

When you talk about the projects you’ve been working on, it makes me happy.

What’s your goal?

Every time you tell that story I smile.

What makes you laugh?

You are the most attractive person in the room. Does someone tell you that often enough?

Tell me your life story.

What drives you?

Living in a world with music and art, then being forced to work a soulless job that aids the slow decline of civilization, is like living in a zoo as free people watch and laugh holding Starbucks.

I miss you. More than you know.

What are you up to?

How are you?

Too bad I hate both tripe AND babies.

Let’s say you make a thing. Let’s say it is primarily in a digital space. Let’s also say you would like to interact with people who like your thing.

How do you facilitate this interaction? Which social media outlets do you prefer? E-mail? Phone calls? What works for you?

This is important. Very.

Meh. I’ve seen better.

Who can?

See, Liberal people drive like this, and Republican people drive like that.

Joke, observation, insight insight insight, emotional freakout, detached statement, meta meta, beautiful string of text, forwarded link.

Enough with the hipster bullshit, please.

As someone who spent most of his life on the phone, I understand how annoying it is to get bad customer service when you are trying to be polite. But when you start a call yelling, drop a string of profanity, and threaten me with legal action and physical violence, I want to tell other people to never shop at the national chain for which you happen to handle payroll.

Not a lot of stuff from my youth holds up as well as I’d like, but when I was 19, the Germs were everything to me. Over 20 years later, they still hold my attention.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germs_

The only church I care about.

(Would you like to help me test market a new podcast I’m working on? It features Marla and I talking about life in Salem, and what we do to pass the time. We’re still fine tuning, but we have a pilot episode. Care to listen?)

I am obsessed with these. They are delicious.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hi-Chew

Got an official rejection from a job I was interested in. I has already guessed not, given how long it had taken then to even respond, but it still stung a bit.

I’m so happy to be attending this 40-Hour waste-of-time every week, where the person I love is forcibly kept away from me during the productive hours of the day. My back and eyes hurt constantly, but that’s okay. Maybe they’ll offer me overtime again by making me feel guilty about my contributions this week? Who knows?

It’s a good thing Mother’s Day is over. Now we can return to treating women like second class citizens again. Has anyone considered infringing on women’s reproductive rights? What about paying them less? C’mon people, I can’t do this alone.

Can we stop culturally pressuring women to be mothers when they don’t want to be? Sometimes, a person is perfect without having had children.

Just recorded a podcast for the first time in quite some time. Hopefully this can be heard soon enough.

One… Two… Three! Fight! Happy Mothra’s Day.

Children are the worst. Happy Mother’s Day.
http://trib.al/0a8UMnE

There is no other. Happy Mother’s Day.

You look Divine. Happy Mother’s Day.

Here’s hoping your Mother Box always pings you back. Happy Mother’s Day.

Rock on. Happy Mother’s Day.

Watch out for rat monkeys. Happy Mother’s Day.

Who do you have to stab to get a packet of crisps around here? Happy Mother’s Day.

My mom’s band, Borrowed Time, late ’60’s era. She’s on the far left. Happy Mother’s Day.

Happy Mother’s Day.