Sunday Confessions #2

I feel overloaded between work and doing this online grad school thing. My real trouble is I’m easily distracted.

This is why going to the library is good for me because it helps me focus. Of course, the internet can be distracting from time to time, but the environment is good for me. There’s something in the air that makes me feel guilty when I start getting distracted. So I don’t let it continue for long.

That being said, I’m not at the library yet. It doesn’t open for another 15 minutes. Maybe I should take a walk to kill the rest of the time.

I will not be confessing where I am right now. You might be some creepy stalker.

Also, I have other things to confess, but I figure I should limit it to one thing per Sunday Confession. Hopefully, I can remember to do this more regularly.

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I Be All Messed Up Today

This morning I set out for the library to get some school work done. I was also planning to record something. But my scattered brain done messed it all up.

On the school work thing, I recently got myself a little travel mouse to make things easier with my little travel computer. (I have to do a lot of cutting and pasting for an assignment due Sunday. Trying to do that with the touchpad on that ‘puter leads to much swearing and lots of time being spent on getting little done.) Of course, I decided not to prepare all that ahead of time and ended up walking out the door without it.

Mondays have been somewhat rearranged, so I’ve given up on the idea of trying to record something every Monday. I figured Friday would be a better option (with a new subtitle all figured out). Of course, I’m not really able to record at home because the wife is around and I get all weirded out and insecure. No problem, though, because I have a portable recorder. Of course, I didn’t plan that ahead of time either and walked out the damn door without it.

So I went to the library and accomplished much before heading home where I can’t accomplish a damn thing. (Well, I can. It’s just way more difficult and takes more time. Also, I can’t do that recording thing because of the reasons I wrote about earlier.) So I did get some things done today, but I’m still all messed up. This happens to me sometimes. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Good thing this is my year of not giving a shit. Otherwise, I’d probably be all messed up tomorrow thinking about how I was all messed up today.

This is an old picture of me not getting anything done because I was lazy and also because a couple furballs were demanding attention. I assure you even the one that’s not on top of me would’ve been upset had I moved.

I Walked a Long Way to Sit Here Now

I like to do school work at my local University library. It’s a funny thing, but it helps me focus.

Working at my local University library requires me to pay for parking and then walk a significant distance (a mile or so). I understand the need for all this. After all, if parking were free and conveniently located, it would be pretty much impossible with the whole place being overstuffed.

There is a problem, though. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be writing about it. The parking payment is done at a little kiosk and then requires me to put a little stub in my windshield. With school in session, I had to park a fair distance from that little kiosk today. So I left my backpack in my car while going to pay for parking.

And then I forgot to put the damn stub in my windshield. And of course, I didn’t notice this until after I reached my chosen spot on an upper floor of the aforementioned local University library.

Swear words were said. Some out loud but none too loudly. (I’m in a library after all.) So after a long walk (lasting nearly an hour) and paying more money to extend my time in that parking lot, I am finally sitting in my local University library and preparing to do some school work.

But before I do that, I’m going to see if I can get a parking pass and how much the damn thing might cost.

This is how I look right now after all that unexpected walking. Trust me. It’s less scary in black and white.

I Was Going to Write Something Today, But I Have a Cat on My Hands

I literally have a cat on my hands. Well, truth be told, she’s only on my right hand. Still, do you know how hard it is to type with a full-grown kitty on your hand?

Granted, she’s on the small side, 10ish pounds or so. If she were a Maine Coon or something, forget about it. But this is a pain in the ass.

And she just left. Praise be. So maybe I’ll finish this thing out a little more freely. My apologies for not writing so much lately. Or maybe it was a relief to you. Whatever.

More apologies for not having a picture today. I’m in a bit of a rush, and my right hand is half-numb.

Sunday Confessions #1

Warning: This post is definitely gross and discusses poop.

Recently I had this weird dream that I was pooping in full view of a college class being taught by a famous actor I won’t name*. While wiping my ass, I apologized for being such a distraction as I knew this famous actor (whom I’ve never met) hated that.

And this from a guy who hates pooping in public bathrooms because of the stupid little gaps in the stall walls.

*For #metoo reasons. I don’t want the name distracting from everything else.

Also, I’ll forego a picture today because the temptation is too great to post something horrible. And because of technological reasons.

I’m Not Keeping Track of How Often I Write, Like For Real This Time

As I was getting ready for work yesterday, I started thinking about something I might write for Three Things Thursday so that I could make sure I had something written for yesterday.

Then the work day happened, and I got busy. I didn’t get the thing written during my lunch break.

Then I got home and remembered that I hadn’t written the thing during my lunch break. So I had a little bit of a panic and thought I better get that done after I take care of my pet responsibilities. (I have to give attention to the dog and then feed my cat. Or they’ll kill me.)

Then I got done with my pet responsibilities and sat down on the couch. I thought about writing that thing for about a half second.

Then I remembered how exhausted I was after my work week and decided not to do it. But I felt guilty about it.

Then I remembered this is my year of not giving a shit. So I stopped feeling guilty.

Then I went to bed and slept blissfully. (Not really but pretty good.)

Then I got up and did all my morning stuff which includes some pet responsibilities.

Then I went to the library to get some school work done.

Then I took a break to write this.

Then I decided I would stop and maybe add a picture and publish this thing.

Sadie is the only one who makes no demands in the morning or after I get home from work. She still makes demands. They’re just completely unpredictable.

Oh, Pretty Woman

Note: Today’s and yesterday’s posts were written well in advance.

I like pretty women. I’m funny that way.

My wife is a pretty woman (though she would protest that fact). In fact, if you saw us together, you’d likely think something like, “What is such a good-looking woman doing with a guy like that?”

A lot of my friends are pretty women. This is mostly coincidence and luck. I don’t seek out pretty women to be my friends. I happen to relate well to women, and it just so happens that they tend to be pretty. Sometimes I even let them know that I think they’re pretty. They usually appreciate the compliment, knowing that I am not trying to pursue anything romantic. I’m merely trying to pay a compliment.

I don’t worry about #metoo because I am careful to be respectful. (This is definitely a topic for a future time.) At times I’ve had female friends let me know that my compliments were not welcome, usually because of the context in which they’re given. (A writer friend, for instance, told me she appreciated the compliment but doing so as a comment on something she wrote was not. Lesson learned. Thank you.)

That leads me to a recent dilemma. A friend of a friend wrote something recently that I thoroughly enjoyed. (I need to remember to leave a comment and make sure I compliment her writing.) I also noticed with the accompanying picture how pretty this writer happens to be. I mean, she is strikingly beautiful. Now I’m not wishing to hit on her by any means, but a part of me wishes to tell her that I noticed and appreciate her awe-inspiring face.

The context, though, leaves me hesitant. Also, I don’t know this person. There certainly are some women who never like to have their physical appearance complimented, particularly by some creepy old man. I understand. So maybe I’ll say nothing. Maybe I’ll ask my friend. That seems like a good idea.

The thing about writing without giving a shit is sometimes you work out these weird little dilemmas in your head. Maybe you should try it sometime.

These are ducks somewhere in Michigan circa 2013. This picture was randomly selected.