The Apologist. Sort of …

It’s not like I knew where I would end up. I was clueless. All I knew is I had to write. So I kept writing. Lots of crap. I wandered in circles. 

What does this mean?

I wondered and wondered. 
The conclusion became increasingly clear to her. It was rubbish.

 Fuck. Not again?  Do I really have to start from the Beginning? 

You do. Actually. 

So I kept at it. I was slower than a mile. No doubt nothing or no one could challenge my tenacity.
 I was committed
I would never give up. 

But I truly have no idea what happened. I’m as lost as you are!
How should I know I would have unlimited amounts of venom in my pen?
Please …

Forgive me. 

Bribing My Professors in College, High School, And Grammar School

In 3rd grade, I had Ms Madsen for Science. She must’ve been at least 6’11” and was as thin as a rod but had the constitution of a Bull. She was my teacher for the Science Class on Reason. Plus she was – she had – this Strength that was undeniable. She was sharp and had a crisp but loving eye. 
She was my first Bribe. 

I can’t get a C, I told her. My parents would consider me an utter failure. Please help me deal with my parents!  They are annoying me. 
It was all about what appeared to be superficial but which in fact, had some interesting intersections with the Bottom layer of Society. Didn’t smell as bad as I thought it would. 
Grateful for that. 


The Life of A Tragic Heroinne:  Money Does Not Matter For Her …  Yet it matters …  But ‘ya think she gives a fuck?  Of course not!

Here I was last night in the same spot I am right now thinking about everything and anything that didn’t have to do with money. 

There I was watching a highly improbable – a total fantasy world – not the one created in my head, but in the head of others, in this case a Korean serial set in an age of Chivalry and Romance. 

Those were the times of Decorum and Subtlety where lovers had to communicate with more subtle cues to show interest in the opposite sex. Beautiful costumes adorn the young prince who is in love with a Commoner who is gifted in designing clothing – an Artist of the texture of senses through fabrics.  And touch. 
So here I am almost 62. 


And I still don’t give a fuck about money. However, somehow I have managed to survive – more than survived, even though the lesson gets harsher with each passing year – because it eventually drops in my lap when I most need it. 

Call it Providence. 
Maybe even Divine Providence, come to rescue it’s dumb offspring plopped on the world of Materialism and bouncing around like a 2 year old. 
But why should that matter?

In terms of time anyway. 

At 46, she had no idea she was doing this until her friend told her she was totally off – numerically and in Time. 

Damn. I’m 47 already!

Imagine that 

And then Judy in the driest of Wit says as lovingly as capable and with a nasal accent crescendo – ing. 

You’re not 47. 

You’re 46!

And then the dim one saying with total wonder …

I am?  
Damn. I thought I was 47 for almost all year.  

KNOW  I’m really bad in Arithmetic, like 2% IQ for it, but thought more highly of my communication skills. 
How did I miss that one?

Here she was almost 62 and still playing!
Hopping around and tasting the Absurdity of the Human Climate. 
And not liking it one bit.