I left the house once to get lightbulbs. And I'll admit to doing so quite reluctantly. I wanted nothing more than to stay in all day long and continue my streak of doing nothing.
But you gotta have light. Ask the dark side of the moon. Frightening situation, living in perpetual darkness. Can't abide it.
I suppose I could have just steered clear of my office, which was the only room suffering from the affliction of darkness. But I wanted to get some work done and the room is empty enough. I could at least add some bulbs.
I worked on the iPad a bit today. Downloaded a note taking app that let's me continue the brainstorming work I was doing on the dry erase board like a savage, with the added benefit of keeping it all organized. It's a bit of a revelation. Should be helpful.
I did take a little walk with the shithead before dinner. And by shithead I mean Hubble. If we let him outside when it rains he seems to take that as a dare to get as muddy as possible. Most dogs run out for a quick regrettable pee and then bolt back inside to, you know, avoid getting soaked. Not my dog. He doesn't seem happy unless he's eardrum deep in muck and sludge or biting into a mouthful of rabbit shit.
So I strapped the leash on and we went for a walk while I listened to a lecture on Albert Camus. His novel the Stranger in particular. By the time we got back Jeannette was outside waiting to yell at us. "Apparently" I was longer than the 20 min I'd quoted her and she was pissed because dinner was getting cold.
It's still weird, being with someone who actually cooks. And like a bloody chef I might add. I've never in my life been cooked for. It's a game changer. She loves it. I think it's been fun for her as well, slowing the pace of our lives down and being way out here in the boonies where we both have the time and ability to pursue interests.
For her it's cooking. For me, writing. And reading. Which I've done very little of so far. Well, I still don't have the time with all the house stuff and family engagements. You know how it is. And if something must he sacrificed, at this point in what should be my most "productive" years, it'll be consumption of some kind. In this case reading.
Consumption must always give way to creation in my view. It's the only reason the universe is even here, mathematically speaking.*
*I say "mathematically" as I have no idea how physicists describe thinking in their manner. ..physically?? All thinking is physical. Until it's not..
Speaking physicsally, then.
Ohh, I like it more now that Siri doesn't.
The fact that a fraction more matter was created in the very, VERY beginning, than it's anti-matter twin. Which translates to a fraction more creation than consumption.
Consumption merely cancels. Devouring without purpose is the virus. A bad lifestyle let me tell you. The black hole is fully turned on then.
So congratulations to all you painters and artisans and people who create shit out there that works and is valid and helps others create even more truth. So that we can keep on moving forward and making it better for those coming up.
I'm on a soapbox now. Jeannette is yelling at me to go to bed. She can't see the box because it was only a bar soap cardboard box. It's just flat under me.
Just a shred more creation than consumption is all that's required.
I'm not saying don't enjoy your life. Let me quickly interject. Please do. And by all means shoot for a manner of making your "living" by doing something that you love to do.
Which is what YouTube and all that is for. Go for it.
And if you don't get there, may you find a function in life that gets you jazzed about the day when you wake up in the am.
Or work for someone or something that inspires you. Again, you know what I'm saying. It's obvious now, in the world we live in.
I'm now leaning up against the wall as I write this like a weirdo. Jeannette's asking what I'm doing.
She just said "what are you doing?" To which I replied, "writing my blog," to which she retorted, "standing up?"
Like I'm an asshole.
In reality, the reason is because it's plugged into this outlet and it's dying. How exciting is the direction this entry has taken?! Doing play by play of very lame bedroom conversation.
Picture me in a red velvet robe, twirling handcuffs, with a brandy in hand as I type.. Somehow. How about now?
Now picture a tick has fallen on my face and Jeannette has jumped up to slap it away. She just poked my eye. ..I'm bleeding profusely.
And yet still finishing up the entry.. with dignity.. and, whilst rapidly shifting weight on my feet as both of my hips grow weary from all the standing business.
This entry took a strange turn. Which is what happens when I lay the phone down while thumbing and pick it up to write on it occasionally.
A new method perhaps..