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A good breakfast.
Oatmeal, steel cut, just a touch of avocado oil, one bag of stevia. I set it out in water last night; cooks easily pre-soaked. I'm gonna buy raisins to put in it, and almonds.
Iced coffee, with one small lime squeezed into it.
(I realize that perhaps sounds like "Yech! -- WTF?" But -- it's good.)
Water. 1/2 teaspoon sole in it. Sometimes a lemon or lime squeezed into it; today a small lime. A package of electrolyte replenisher; no sodium, no sugar. Includes potassium, calcium, magnesium, and manganese. A great workout drink.
I do believe that this is the earliest I have ever written for this page. It is 3:19 AM, *early* on a Wednesday morning.
Don't misunderstand -- I have written here at this time many, many times. My calendar is different from yours, and really the day doesn't click over until I fall into sleep. It starts when I awaken, ends when I fall out. It's just the most sensible way I've found to deal with writing when constrained by dates.
I'm just in from a splendid bike ride. It is humid but just gorgeous; Austin is so damn beautiful.
So. Today. What is today, what was today, what was of import in my life on this fine Thursday?
Not very much, were the truth to be told. My arms and chest are so damn sore from my feeble attempt at pushups yesterday, I tried to crank out a few today but stopped by the weakness, stopped by the stiffness, stopped by how goddamn sore the muscles are.
I cannot believe how weak I am. I had no idea. When last I did pushups I was cranking out low thirties in my first set.
I will get back there soon.
So here I am, fresh off that bike ride, my fingers/thumbs still a bit jangly from the handlebars It rained today, heavily but not long, I've sandy mud on the back and the insides of my calves, up to my knees, enough to get sand on the sheets -- I don't give even a hint of a damn about it. They'll be washed tomorrow anyways.
It is 1:07 AM, probably mid 60sF, a bit chill, a lot damp. Not fog but wisps of mist like rags in the sky, but that doesn't sound pretty, and it's awfully pretty out there.
Matthew had this book he'd read, told me I just *had* to read it, that it really moved him. It sounded hokey to me, it sounded formulaic, I'm not interested, but he just keeps on.
I said "OK, I'll read it. But on the condition that you read a book that I select for you to read." He agreed to that. We put our word on it. I read the book he insisted I read -- it was in fact formulaic. Like a Hollywood movie.
But Matthew refused to read the book I'd selected for him. Refused.
What a prick.
Cambodia is still totally fucked up because of Pol Pot, he killed any educated ppl; it's like he cut the head off of Cambodian life. Teachers, doctors, lawyers, leaders of any type, tortured and killed. It's like what Russia and Germany did in Poland and Ukraine in WW2. They'll be decades more, maybe forty years, maybe more, before they have doctors and dentists and whatever else. I've read considerable about these ppl, it's really a goddamn tragedy -- Cambodia was a gorgeous place, and matched Thailand for culture and infrastructure. Pol Pot totally destroyed it, and did it real fast.
That friend of mine who didn't read the book I sent him, in keeping with our agreement wherein I read a book he wanted me to read and I'd only do it if he would read a book that I selected for him. And I kept to my part, and read the book, though it wasn't a thrill, and then he basically told me "Fuck off." when I was waiting for him to keep to his word. Well. I sent him an email. It wasn't unkind, but it was honest. Questioned his integrity. Pissed him the fuck off.
197.6 pounds. Yet again I break through 200. I've got this fat/thin thing going on, I get totally redneck about diet and eat nothing but organic gruel and dirt, and then I slide off and eat pizza and disgusting junk food. And I do mean disgusting -- cheezeburgers from one of the sleaziest dumps in town, and they are just absolutely great, except that of course they are *not* great. Last time I ate two of them it made me feel sick -- that's a good thing. Pizza is also crack for me. I'm getting trim, I want to stay trim.
So I decided to do pushups again; my lower body and even my core is in fair shape from the daily bike rides but I've let my arms chest shoulders etc atrophy.
I used to be able to do like 33 first set, then maybe 28 second set, maybe 22 or 25 on the third set. This is like four years ago.
I figured to start off easy, three sets of ten pushups.
Humbling -- I could only do 6. 6!!! Fkn candy ass...
That was last week; today I did 12 first set, then two sets of 10.
Two big honkin' bowls of oatmeal. The good kind, too, steel-cut, all of its nutrients still in it; I put it in water last night, to soak, ready to pop into the microwave this morning. A bit of oil in it (fat), a good sized handful of organic blueberries, two brown bananas cut up.
And: a shake, with peanut powder (minus the fat, great source of protein, and collagen powder (incredible source of protein and lots of other good shit too), big spoonful of sole (tons of minerals) and an electrolyte mix, also -- breakfast of champions!
I stopped at Trader Joe's this evening, dropped eighty bucks and change, amazingly good food. They've got it laid out correctly, knowing as they do that hungry ppl are going to be coming through those doors -- likely I spent twenty or twenty-five bucks on greens, salad fixings of various sorts, and some dressing. And this is all to the good, *so long as I don't let it rot in the fridge*."
It wouldn't be the first time.
I know I'm not the only person who does this. I can't know who's reading this, maybe you do it also.
James was just a natural, he was my seven dollar an hour apprentice, a terrible hand that I turned into a journeyman carpenter in short order. He'd been in the army, he learned to do a side kick straight as an arrow flies, and just that fast, too, a picture perfect side kick. One day he does this side kick and right at its apex he trumpets out this pants-ripper fart and he gets this frightened look on his face, says "Oh god no !! -- It's a West Texas Barking Spider !!" I have appropriated that since that day.
The biggest piece of my day? Meeting with Bob, 5:30 PM, for at least 18 years now. It's a rock, a huge piece of my foundation.
And then grocery shopping, which was fun. Coming home and finding the oatmeal and the good-guy rice on my doorstep, from Amazon -- great. No oatmeal this morning, the first time in a week.
This rice, these oats -- pricey, to say the least. They're awfully proud of this stuff it seems. So, time to shop around.
Late mtg, saw and spoke with Matt, which was/is great.
Last -- bike ride.
Day is done.
My life is overrun with just altogether too much shit. High quality shit. Shit that I like. Shit that's cool. Etc and etc. But the fact is that I've so much I can't enjoy most of it.
It is a hard habit to kick. Buying buying buying. "But it's a good deal!" "But I really like it!" "It will make me happy."
No, it won't make me happy.
That I have proven. Demonstrated, time and again. I think of the people who fill a house with "Great stuff that I love!" and then when it's full buy another.
Been riding more at night here of late, I didn't even get out the door til like two AM. Very few people out. I jumped a couple of young deer. I jumped two or three possum -- these things are fkn brain-dead, they wait until I'm right there and then run in front of me. I ran over one last night. Not my fault. I jumped lots of rabbits, an armadillo, a lot of feral cats.
Anyways. A fun ride. Then came in, cleaned up that fan that was so filthy -- it blows twice as much air now.
It's 1:13 AM, I'm just in the door from a hammering bike ride, maybe the best in months. It's in the low 80s, I'm hydrated all to hell, the sweat was pouring through me but not uncomfortably, I had the best lungs I've had in months, I jammed that ride HARD HARD HARD,.
A great bike ride. Tremendous fun.
Might be you're thinking "That's the biggest piece of his day? A sweaty bike ride? WTF?" To which I shall respond "Pound sand up your ass, ya fuck, judge not lest ye be judged, etc and etc.
What's funny -- not Ha Ha !! funny, but funny nonetheless -- is that with all the noise I just made here in this condo right at 3 AM, my neighbors have actually gotten off lightly. I've got my .44 mag right here, my frustration level was/is through the roof, I'm blasted on endorphins from the ride, I haven't been laid in years, and when I did get laid it wasn't some happy fuck festival, it was guarded ~ I ~ was guarded. So basically, I want to shoot every goddamn, cocksucking, dick-bite, motherfucking thing I see, and many things that I don't.
Headed into the kitchen, tripped over a cord and went down so fkn fast, I couldn't get even one hand up. Smashed face-first into a chair arm HARD, my nose and right next to my nose smacked the arm of that fucking chair HARD.
Don't move. Take stock. I was certain that I'd broken my nose. Knocked out some teeth maybe. Concussion. Broken shit up but the pain hadn't hit yet -- that happens.
Best I can tell -- nothing. Not even bleeding. I'll hurt tomorrow, a sore neck for sure, maybe black eyes.
In the blink of an eye...
I want to make this clear, right here, right now, without going even one half sentence further, I am going to pronounce -- Ready? -- that I don't want to write this. At all. Not even one tiny goddamn bit. Like -- fuck this 100 words jive. Like -- leave me the fuck alone. Like -- piss off. Like --- okay, so I'm out of stuff that it's like. Yet I still need to dream up another 31 words. Or so. At the end of this sentence -- by which I mean the last word in this sentence -- I'll only need to write one more word. See?
A couple weeks ago I decided it's time to head back into doing pushups. I hadn't done any in maybe four years, I was able to rip out maybe 30 for first set, right in there, more or less, and second set maybe three to five less, third set maybe three less than that. So I figured I'd start out easy, give my body a break, just do three sets of ten.
I could barely do one pushup. ONE FUCKING PUSHUP !!!! What the fucking fuck?
Today, first set ten, one set nine, two sets eight.
Use it. Or lose it.
I feel *so* *good* when I eat greens. Kale especially seems to be a very good friend to my body. Even to my head, it seems -- I have a kale deficiency.
So many times I have brought spectacular food into my home, only to toss it into the trash, having eaten sandwiches or whatever else.
Specialized bicycle shoes suck. They look good -- as if that mattered. They are basically pieces of shit.
After my first two pair -- Airwalks -- nothing will compare. Airwalks are built for the long haul. I had no idea, bought them blind. But I know now.
I was up all night, then unable to really get any significant amount of sleep. And then I rode in the early evening, the sun still high in the sky. I ran out of juice a couple of times on the ride over to The Sunset Bench, stopped and rested. Took 55 minutes, which isn't bad but damn sure no world beater.
I write this @ 10:48 PM and I'm beat. Gonna take the fast bus, gonna let the sleep that's been trying to grab hold of me do so. Looking forward to awakening after a deep rest.
Thinking of Kathy, who would have been 60 tomorrow, and thinking about Christopher, how alcoholism ate him alive. So is this what it is to get a few more years, it's not just that I'm losing height and hair and gaining hair coming out of my fucking ears for jesus christ sake, it's losing people. Or hurting over losing people. I wonder what Kathy would be like at 60; Brenda told me that she'd begun to lose her beauty before her death at 39, maybe at 60 she'd be all Art, instead of being impossibly beautiful she'd create impossible beauty.
Is what I've done wrong?
Not that it matters. It was so much bigger than I, it crushed me, it's like I was crushed and then continually spun and crushed and spun and crushed.
I have no idea how I did not kill myself.
How many times did I put that shotgun in my mouth?
I laugh at ppl who think that AA is bullshit. It is only through what I was given by the generous souls of fellow alcoholics that I was able to be friends with Kathy afterwards.
I will always love her.
Happy Birthday Kathy.
No idea what to write. A shit day coming into a shit night. Maybe the bike ride my only savior (?) or maybe meeting Josh (?) or maybe eating something (?) or god only fkn knows what.
I see all of these ppl building good lives. Jason has moved into the gorgeous house, and I bet Rachel makes it a home. And Gabby, also. Ariane has got to be shitting herself -- this life could have been hers. I've pissed away friendship with Jimmy. I'm living like a freak and cannot break loose my freakdom.
Days like this, I want to end this fucker.
Went to bed after the dawning.
Couldn't sleep then slept HARD and long.
First time wearing new black boots -- gorgeous.
Josh, and his amazing stepfather, massive heart attack and conscious next day -- WTF?
Meeting. Talked of course about the gift given, that I was Kathy's friend. First time I ever got respect from Fred.
Home. Napped. Then out, bike ride @ 4AM. Pushups -- a lot of them. Listening to book. Then just sat, enjoying the morning, enjoying the book.
Damned if the sunrise didn't catch me. Prayed. Meditated. Sweet..
Ride home, 4 cardinals. And Alison. Now home, breakfast. Soon -- medications.
Hot. Humid. Definitely summer-time in Austin. I was up WAY into the dawning, maybe ten or eleven AM before I even woke, then ate a bunch of shit and back to sleep yet again.Woke then to Weaver's place, where I was exhausted, literally exhausted. Went shopping -- windshield washer fluid etc. Home. Napped, then bike ride maybe 10:30, in bed b4 midnight. And hadn't done this set of hundreds, first thing I thought of when I awoke -- hundreds.
So here I am. I set up another fan -- more white noise, cooking comfort. Woke bolt up right 3AM.
It is HOT. My A/C doesn't work, I'm living with fans and sweat. More alone today than any day in recent times. By which I mean I really am feeling it. I think of Frank, how he lived -- he was smart enough to never, ever be alone. I say to myself "Hey, you're not in relationship that isn't a fit." and that's sure true. But to be alone, and alone, and alone -- it's a fucking curse Craig knew this curse, knew it too well. Too many years this has been on me, and today it is crushing me. Alone.
I'm carrying a lot of fat.
When I was in high school -- 187.
When I got clean/sober -- 187.
When I stayed clean/sober -- 187.
When I quit smoking I immediately put on weight. Without one goddamn change to my diet. I ate the same. I worked as hard. Out of nowhere, belts are too tight.
For the first time, clothes I easy could have worn in high school were tight.
Since then -- fat/thin. I got up to 240. I've been back to 187.
With Ashtanga the problem was gone.
Not the best day today and not the worst.
Met with Jason @ Westlake. I confess, I am envious. His life is going so. goddamn. great. He truly appears happy. Relaxed. Totally freed from Ariane -- I never thought I'd see the day. Everything moving in a direction he wants.
Haircut on South Lamar. Bike chain; signed up for bike class at REI,
Mac Donalds double cheeseburgers -- wtf? Certainly not health food.
Wanted to cancel meeting up with Scott but plugged my way through it.
My A/C needs to be fixed. So does my pickup. The truck comes first.
Everybody hates Julie, my psycho bitch neighbor. Not because she's nuts, which makes her difficult enough, but because she's a spoiled piece of shit.
Such a pleasure to tell her F2F "Fuck! You!" and pound her fucking door -- HARD -- to where I shook the fkn walls, after she pounded mine. Scared. the. fuck. out. of. her.
I doubt anyone's set her straight before.
Dave, lives below me. I've never had one neighbor have a problem with me, and this sniveling fuck doesn't want me to walk in my condo after he's in bed. Whiny little bitch!
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