So the CD player in the truck took a shit and I got a ticket parked in front of Jay's house last night. 25 bucks. I'm getting great at saying goodbye to money and not seeing any actual goods for it. It's been a fucking comedy of little unpleasantries lately. But, you know, Like Stevie said "no one gonna bring me down".
Actually with the task of doing the newsletter for The Things and a couple of shows with some fine folk before me and the obligatory cup 'o tea in my immediate future I'm a calm dude. My doctor perscribed some mild anxiety medication. I'm not filling that one. Nope, I'm gonna take up Tai Chi. I would love to try yoga, but it's all cool like malty-poos (which I dig, as well) and poker, so it's Tai Chi for me. Cause, ya know, fuck yoga. I'm not cool and I'm going to prove it by being the uncoolest dude I can. I can be the best Kevin ever.
I love work, although I still secretly think I suck at my job. I love the house. I love the Bucket and I love my dying truck. I love the dogs and the mandolins and the sound of strings. Lucky me. I doubt the existence of a loving, interventive god, but on the outside chance that there's a personality attached to that myth,