I love the slow directions things are turning. Life is as fucking meandering and heavily directional with the weight of your past, that moving shit around is like turning an oil tanker. But, knock on cyber wood, shit seems to be turning in a better direction lately, even if I’m broker than ever and have little tangible proof that that’s gonna change any time soon. It’s all good though, which is a phrase people use to pretend shitty things aren’t so shitty. But things are going well. Like I went for a walk up what used to be a logging trail dudes four-wheeled on, but the asshole who owned it put up a gate. So I walked up there this morning, just to check it out, and it was calm. Walked right up on two white tails, ten feet away before they even noticed me. And on the way back, I found a yellow flashing light like you’d see on top of a wrecker in the woods, which I of course took home, to put on top of my long-disabled Datsun. I think I might see if I can somehow wire it up to the Christmas lights also on the Datsun. It’d be tight to have a flashing light on that bitch, with the light working and car not.
I hate cutting my huge ass yard with a push mower, with wife family coming in next week, and I can’t afford to get my riding mower out the shop yet. I had money the two months them motherfuckers didn’t fix it, at least some of those weeks, and now they finally fix it and I ain’t got no fucking money. It’s some bullshit man. Not really though. I’m just a broke ass. “Hit the Lotto, next week you still poor...” I love that line from “Small Town” by Nappy Roots. Ha, things must be going well... I closed out my hate with some love. Positivity over negativity hitting 50 levels deep... coming from coming from the woofers in my Jeep.
No comments:
Post a Comment