the courage to go forward or in reverse

dear gear shifting makes me nervous even still diary,

more and more you will find less here. don't read anything into that because i'm not. in the beginning it would flow like water and slowed to a trickle and now it barely drips. blowing molasses through 1/4" tubing might be easier than getting a post out of me sometimes, but eventually i'll say what i came here to say. i hate going backwards without actually turning my actual head.

toxicity

dear forcible entry and detainer diary,

asking only one of the dogs to leave is always difficult for me. i forget to do this quietly and i always end up hurting feelings that shouldn't be hurt. make no mistake, they both get their turns but there are those times i prefer one over the other. i cant remember how cold it has to be before the grump wont hang his head out the window and mad dog the people driving in the lane next to us. i think it is so rude how he just stares and glares at folks and i try and make him him stop- but he wont. it is his birthday today. i couldn't beat him when his caught the jet, instead i let the angry 56 year old make his bets. a determined thinker, a wet tongue sinker, this grump of mine, who can clearly still rip a stinker.

do something about that

dear sucking up diary,

seeing those people get sucked up into the air and slammed into things while driving down the interstate in my dream last night makes me kinda want to stay awake and off of the interstate for a while- maybe even permanently. what freaked me out was seeing people smiling before they died. i hope i am smiling when i die. i prolly will be though. i really need to get my ass to bed or ima be the one crashing and slamming into shit.

needles on the playground

dear basic diary,

nothing like before, the mindless instinct of who i am determines basically everything that i do. you always think you're going to have more time and then time runs out. my mind remains a playground for others, but i have the whistle to blow when recess is over and that's the difference these days. plus i know the going rate for a good blow job and i don't give change. yes, walking around in my shoes will sometimes give you a headache and chapped lips, but at the end of the day- i suppose a trip to the nurse's office wont hurt any body.

speech therapy

dear driving into the lake diary,

fuck me i cant remember when it was and i sure ain't going to go look it up, but when the hero went diving down into the lake and found that girl dead in her car and pulled her out, it made me sad. he always told me horrible stories about death and i listened. the very first big accident was when the female police officer died six years ago- that was when the hero and i first started wrecking each other's lives. the information he shared with me about that accident was the most graphic shit i, to this day, have ever heard- it changed me. i've always had a deep fascination- or curiosity- about death and here was someone who got to see it happen every single day. seems weird to some, but my contact with the dead comes at a different level- so the process of death has always interested me. maybe that could explain what or why i stuck around so long... nothing else he ever said OR DID was all that intoxicating. i dunno and i suppose it matters even less now, it hasn't changed my communication or anything.

gainfully employed (ONCE again)

dear return of the retarded whores diary,

whores never really go away, we just make our rounds. while i may no longer make house calls, i know others who still will. appointments are necessary to ensure proper quality service in my field of business. plus, we want to spend as much time as our clients need to enjoy the satisfaction only a really retarded whore can give. it's our duty to take the whore out of horrifying when getting the smallest of units or the biggest imperfections, we make everyone feel like a genuine porn star. i know how happy it makes me when my special friend can blow his wad in 2.5 seconds and if you need to head on out the door honey- i can assure you- i wont be offended. but for those times you want to cuddle, or if you need someone to sprinkle baby powder on your ass and swollen balls, i've got another girl for you.

delivered to evil

dear back into the wild diary,

as i sit here thinking about things i have thought about before, i realize i might be hungry again. there's only one way to find out. the best kind of food to eat this late at night is the kind you can forget about. watching the news tonight i freaked out. i've been keeping a parishioner in my basement for many years. having no idea this was a crime, i've been freely writing about this on my blog the whole time. i guess i will have to let the fucker go now. the gig is up. i wonder where he will go.

heads or taLes

dear when someone hates diary,

it is always fascinating to me to know i mean so much to someone that they've cleared enough room in their heart to hate. it takes far more energy and dedication to hate someone than it does to like someone. i have a hard time remembering anything, so generally i file people away into three categories, there's the GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM category and SAY HIGH TO IF I WANT TO category and the last one, the I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD category. there have been so many people i've known who've died, i just cant hardly believe it anymore. i figure i'd better start saying high to more people one of these days instead of getting the fuck away from them- after all, next time i see one of us, someone might be dead.

to the city where it sucks

dear screened in porch diary,

i ain't got one of those, a screened in porch, and i prolly wouldn't want one either. it seems like that would sorta take away from the porch element. it didn't at the farm when i lived out there, but i didn't really consider that much of a porch either, that was more of an un-level back room where the deep freezer was. things were so simple at the farm, but so much more difficult financially. things were certainly tight in the winter, but the freedoms were so plentiful year around. my time of everyday peace and quiet was certainly no preparation for my days to come here in the city. if i could go back there i prolly would, but i wouldn't stay. i'd go back and take in all i've forgotten, make a few more wishes for tomorrow, and maybe catch a glimpse of the sunrise over the freshly harvested field- then i'd come back home again i'd imagine.

dropping the soap again

dear rough play at night diary,

the only thing the grump has on his mind this early morning is back talking, rough housing, and humping me every time i lay down. i don't have a clue as to what has gotten into him, other than a brief fuck scene in the sons of anarchy earlier. i'm not letting him up on the bed right now and he is howling and crying and carrying on like a sissy. i wasn't anticipating these aggressive behaviors, but i did happen to mention the prospect of a bath coming up in his nearing future. the bath will not happen this morning- i may try later this afternoon after he forgets i've brought the topic up. i love giving the old grump a bath, but getting him in there sure doesn't look like much fun for the unibomber.

breaking habits

dear medical alert diary,

deep into a frank discussion on why i no longer paint my nails everyday anymore, i defend my idea of saving money on all the paints and remover i no longer require. i can break a habit, even ones i love. i think i even said one time that my mental health status can be gauged by the appearance of my fingertips, but this is no longer true. it might be a good idea to schedule another mental health evaluation to find out my true status and even then, they'll only know what i tell them.

i might be a sex offender

dear fags to bitches diary,

i told myself i'd sit down and write an open door, small wall posting consistent with my earlier ramblings which rarely ever made sense in a complex way that distributed my feelings and blame evenly in the most repetitive and time consuming way. i don't want to introduce any new information to an already saturated social market, i'm pretty sure everyone knows about everything by now. but for sure, we all still hold our secrets. i've been having the sex dreams again. in fact, last night in my dream i wanted the sex i was about to have so bad, i could almost taste it. i woke up with becky trying to squirm away from me, i think i sexually offended her licking her back.

kibbles and bits

dear tall wall diary,

construction has never been something i've had an interest in, unless it was construction paper and even that doesn't impress me much. getting directly to the point here, not very long ago i decided to pull in my strings and write less personal postings where i barely peek in once in a while with my normal levels of stupidity. random organized thought patterns, something i blame on the increase of medication and meditation recommended by my social trainer. saving the best tidbit for last, i want to tell you, i have secretly started a new business venture and the profits look to be outstanding.

the market table

dear better and deeper diary,

have you ever considered a life without the worthless words of a liar? did you know that there is a world of way cooler shit out there that exists- than what is marketed to us by the fuckers who have money and just want more of it? we all go around saying how we 'keep our eyes open,' but the whole time we have no control over what gets shoved down our throats. i have a big mouth. i have no issues with my throat working improperly while things are being shoved down it- or otherwise. i suppose the moral of the story would be simply this, when looking for something better it may be best to dig a little deeper..... and then who knows, you might even stumble upon something you never expected.

double feature (rescue kits available NOW)

dear smart choices diary,

a free information kit is just what everyone needs to illicit new and dedicated partners in crime, or customers- whichever you prefer to call them. what you need to include in the kit is solely up to the provider, or solicitor. i would prolly include a demonstration video of some sort, a projection outline of the duties verses the responsibilities of all parties involved, and maybe a grievance form for any dispute resolution. my information kit would surly attract new business ventures because it would come packaged wrapped in a portable sex mat sized towel as a free complimentary gift for considering my information. i also believe putting dan fogelburg's image on the front of every kit would be an amazing iconic feature, which could also produce aphrodisiac like effects to many.

in your eyes (the light the heat)

no extras today skipper

dear tearing up the thoughts of divorce diary,

if loose lips sink ships, i wonder then what happens to the canoes. what is the reward for sinking a ship these days? because you know once that bitch starts going down, there ain't no coming back up. another question... how long does a said ship have to be forgotten about on the sea floor (or lake) before it finally gains value and is now known as a 'treasure' for people like me to waste the better part of a lifetime searching for one, only to then have it disintegrate when we drag it to shore and the remains of the boat hit the fresh air. living in a canoe can be quite comfortable and stable as well. at least you know exactly who will roll over on you if the bitch goes down.

smiling with the ringer off

dear always smiling diary,

some say it is a gift to be able to smile at anything. my life philosophy is to make anything smile. i've wiped more bugs off my front teeth than i even care to think about, but it was all in great fun. i'm thankful to have teeth. some are thankful to have independent jobs. at the end of the paper route there shouldn't be any papers left and if there are, then that means a household will wake up and have missed a paper. but who? what does the paperboy do? this paperboy would give the extra paper to a lucky unsuspecting homestead and rush back home to bed.

the bus tour

Until you make peace with who you are you’ll never be content with what you have. Doris Mortman

dear holding on to history diary,

words from the past somehow echo here on my blog, but only because i let them. it raises hard questions about what i will and will not allow here anymore. AND why did i choose those particular words. being at peace is something i wish for everyone who visits here, believe it or not, even though i know it is all but impossible. my journey has been long to gather the peace in my life and sometimes there is still much noise. i have accepted the sounds of my ways and i donate each day to discovering more ways to appreciate the splendor of the glory of yesterday. i no longer worry about things i will never again hold dear and i discharge all use of their memory. i am good again.

small neck dogs don't snore

dear great water diary,

thinking about a bath got me to the point where i decided it was time to try and stay awake for a shower. my eye hurts anyway. easy does it whore- thinking can be hard and tylenol helps, as does an icepack for the swelling and a pillow over my head, but still, wet hair and the window open tonight may not be wise. i rubbed dick cream all over the grump's area tonight and he feels so much better. i don't know why he gets that rash every year around this time and all the vet can say is 'allergies' and the poor fella is so miserable. he loves the attention and spreads his legs so wide- i almost wonder sometimes if he's getting into something on purpose. let me just tell everyone now, the breathe right strips don't do shit for a snoring dog. i just gently kick mine in the head, whichever one is closest.

sleeping through the sex act

dear dead people don't get horny diary,

in all the years i have been dreaming, i had never dreamed of myself asleep. that was night before last and last night i figured out why i had that dream. i must have fallen asleep leaving the bathroom because when i woke up on the floor i was headed out the door. i have yet to fully neurologically reconnect, but i've made great progress today. sleeping in the bathroom wasn't really that bad, i mean, it could have been way worse. i can think of other bathrooms i wouldn't want to be caught napping in under any circumstance. the bathroom at the minneapolis airport where the larry craig incident happened is a high traffic men's bathroom where someone would have trouble sleeping, plus it is dirty as sin up in there. i always photograph that bathroom when i'm up there and last time there were others doing the same thing. i suppose if i was dead instead of sleeping- it wouldn't matter what bathroom i was in cuz i wouldn't be horny anyway.

free your whore

dear crazy angle diary,

not far from where i left the patterns of personal recollection and public rumors, i made it clear twice that playing cowboys and indians was out of the question last night. steering close to the waterfront is what i'd rather see, that and delivering my ashes to wherever it is i shall end up taking them. the game is different than it used to be. shit, even the rules to cowboys and indians have changed, but i'm good. i can play the new game too. i drew the line in the sand like a big girl finally and it felt good.

is it dark yet?

party with marty

dear dead dog diary,

it is the time of year again where i always my homage to my dead dog marty. maybe that is what caused me to dream about walking down the road where he was creamed by the UPS truck that early spring evening. this is the story of my dog who would surly be dead by now, today is his 22nd birthday. since i tell the same story every year, i thought today i might tell something a bit different about poor marty joanne 'gym shoe' and the impact he had on so many lives. he was my first dog and when he was 3 months old, he got bit by another big mean dog while we were at my friend's house playing in the backyard. i cleaned his little bite and it wasn't that bad, i thought, but it got infected. i took marty to the vet and he needed a shot- or he could DIE. the vet said the shot would make marty's teeth all lose their enamel by the time he was 7 and sure enough, my dog had one ugly mouth sooner than that. believe it or not, it made me love him more. he scared david letterman with his smile, often had mace pointed at him by mail carriers, and HATED gas station attendants (if anyone remembers those,) but as long as you weren't black (like he was) and had blonde hair (like i have) and asked him to go 'bye-bye,' well, marty would be your best fucking friend.