might low

I slept like absolute shit last night, because of a few reasons.

First, Jenn heard on the news that a bunch of grain-free dog foods are now being suspected of causing dogs to develop heart disease and ultimately die. Now guess what we’ve been feeding Stella since we got her. As if that doesn’t bother me enough, we’ve gone this route of more expensive, supposedly healthier dog foods because we fed our last two dogs nothing but the cheapest stuff and they both died of cancer, so we figured we’d try going the expensive route to give this dog a better life. Looks like we’ve just been signing her up for a different type of early death though. Son of a bitch. To complicate matters further, we’ve found Stella gets diarrhea from most other brands of dog food, which is obviously no good but it looks like we’ve got to start trying some other brands and put her through a bunch of runny shits until we find one that does not give her the trots (why is it called ‘the trots,’ anyway?) and doesn’t clog up her poor, pure, loving little heart.

So that was weighing on my mind. Then I got an email which is either a scam or a legit ransom scheme that has me more worried than it should. See, everything the email says is complete bullshit (eg, claims to have filmed me with my own webcam when I’ve had duct tape over it since I bought this computer several years ago, that sort of thing), except the email does correctly state the password to a few of my online accounts. The particular password is an old one that I don’t use anymore so I don’t really care if someone knows it, but my concern is that if they know that password, they might know the other more critical ones. So that kept me up a lot of the night too.

*note* I just looked this scam up and like I suspected, the scammer must have infiltrated the website of one of the old forums I used to frequent, got the emails and forum passwords of all the users there, and sent out a mass email in the hopes of someone falling for it. I now feel better about ignoring the whole thing.

*another note* I just realized that the password the scammer got is from my Amazon account that I never use. That’s a big deal, hacking a huge company like that. I expected better security from Amazon. Time to send them an earful.

*one more note* I just tried contacting Amazon about this and it made my browser crash, including this blog post. Holy hell, everyone seems to love Amazon but I fucking hate them. I think their format is cumbersome and unintuitive, shit is never as cheap as I imagine it will be, and now their site conveniently prevents me from complaining about them allowing my personal information to be hacked. Amazon is a piece of shit.

Anyway, on top of those worrisome things, I had bad dreams about performing a show as a two-piece theater/musical group with my old pal Justin, but he was somehow also the old local bully who jumped me at the corner store when I was 14, Rob. So I was secretly terrified of this Rob/Justin hybrid, and REALLY nervous about how our performance was going to go since I didn’t have the slightest idea what we were doing.

Because of this stuff, I kept waking up throughout the night and when I woke up at 2:30 am, I had a restless arms episode — it’s the same as restless leg syndrome but I get it in my arms sometimes. I tried to ignore it because I hate getting up and possibly disturbing Jenn but it was really severe so I had to get up and go do push-ups until the feeling was gone.

Then I woke up this morning and I realized I hadn’t closed the chicken pen last night like I meant to — I think my youngest hen, Sandy, has started laying in hidden spots so I need to keep them in the pen for a day or two to re-train her to lay in the nesting box. I woke up at 6:30 this morning to the sound of them out and about in the yard like usual, and I kicked myself for being so forgetful.

What’s that, five things that gave me a fretful, anxious night of shitty sleep? That’s dreadful. I better put on some serious chillwave this morning and C H I L L   T H E   F   O U T

or maybe some Napalm Death, instead.


Where is my damned scribe?

Most days, I wish I had a scribe running around behind me. I have so many thoughts I want to write about throughout the day — some big, some small — that I can’t remember a fraction of them to start with. Even when I can, by the time I sit at a computer and have time to type them out, I’m no longer interested in exploring that thought. If I had that damned scribe kicking around while I’m driving through town or getting dressed after a massage, I could simply verbalize a whole post and just come back to edit it before posting it online. Damn, that would be easier.

Another option would be a voice recorder. Actually, I think I have one of those. But then I’d have to listen to my own voice and transcribe the words, and I wouldn’t like that. Listening to yourself speak is only slightly better than seeing video of yourself — anyone who is not a delusional narcissist will wince at both of those things. It’s a terrible thing to see the way your mouth twists to one side when you speak, or hear the tiny lisp or annoying sing-songy cadence in your voice. I find that stuff horrifying.

So I don’t know what I’m to do. I mean, today alone, I had at least three, maybe four things I wanted to write about. What were they now? I don’t know. I think one was about how we should be forced to see both the upstream and downstream costs of everything we do. For example, if you buy a car, you should have to sit through a seminar that details the destruction and waste caused by each step of the cars construction (like the mining of the metals and fabrication of the plastic moulding), as well as the destruction and waste associated with drilling for and refining gas and oil so that the car can run, and also the amount of pollution that car will puke forth in its lifetime, and so on and so forth. I think the same approach should go for everything else, too: the food we eat, computers and phones we use for a few years and then throw away, the cheap clothes made by slave labour that we wear, etc. People in the first world should be forced to confront the vast waste and destruction we are responsible for, and we should feel guilty and miserable for it. We deserve it.


Buy chocolate, and you are responsible for rampant deforestation in the Amazon — animals are literally going extinct because you have a sweet tooth. Sleep well.

And that’s just one of the gems I thought about today that I DIDN’T have a scribe to write down for me!

Now it’s a few days later (I’m writing this in fits and starts), and today while I was on a run, I thought of something I wanted to write about. But when I got home, I couldn’t remember the damn thing. I retraced my steps and remembered other things I thought about during other portions of the run, but couldn’t remember the thing I wanted to write about. If only I had a damned scribe with me then. Fear not, though, dear readers — while laying on the floor doing yoga after my run, I spontaneously remembered the lost idea so I jumped up, dashed to the computer, and jotted the basic premise down. I will be delving into this latest masterpiece soon.

But my point is I need a scribe, stat. I can’t keep working like this. I’m hamstringing myself, like Michelangelo being forced to paint the Sistine Chapel with crayons. It’s insanity.


I’m just goofing around. I know I have more in common with this Michelangelo.