Extruded Through Tubes

And here it is another Pleasant Valley Sunday, with the church next door just letting out and all it’s happy parishioners gamboling about in the parking lot, shrieking Halleluiah, tap dancing to the tune of their car alarms, and screaming at the top of their lungs, conversationally, to the other happy worshippers at the other end of the street. It’s a gay and joyous panoply of faith. I am thankful I do not own a double barrel shotgun.

Today, face it, my brains feel like they’ve been mulched and extruded through tubes, the way they make plant fibers into rayon. Extruded through tubes. Which means that my parasitic head is giving me fits and lots of back-talk. Needless to say, I WON’T be going to the gym today. No way, Hosepipe! Okay, now. That was supposed to be no way, Josepe`, but the spellchecker insisted I change it to Hosepipe, with a Capitol H, so I let it. I think my spellchecker has demons.

I keep thinking about “Under the Tuscan Sun” Keep your childish wonder, it’s the most important thing. But how do you do that, really, on a bad day like today? Any arbitrary turning along the way, and I’d be somewhere else. I’d have ended up differently. Gotten a Tuscan Villa instead of a poverty life that is stagnant. So, how do I do that NOW? How do I realize I am at a crossroads and can turn a different direction? From where I stand, all directions are the same. All my choices end up NEGATIVE. Diminished. I wish I could change THAT aspect of life, for certain sure. I’d like, just once, to pick something that sounds good for me, and have it actually turn out to be good for me! Or turn out, period. I'd just like something to TURN OUT for a change.

I'm going to go and hang down my bloggy head and cry, Bill Bailey.