a most laconic post.

Have you noticed I put in orange titles to throw in some color?

I've run into some people lately and they ask me what I do with my time.
So...

Work has been fairly smooth this past week as I still have not lost my temper with any trainees, which isn't too much of a surprise I guess, but there is always the possibility.
I enjoyed the morning when I was serenaded by a coworker singing obscure 1970's rock songs, playing the air guitar as I mixed beef gravy. And I've learned some Portuguese.
However, it will never stop being disconcerting that I at anytime may turn the corner and find my nose two inches from a seven-foot tall mans bellybutton. A fully clothed belly button, but D is reeeaallly tall.
AND...I just put in my two weeks notice.
yes.
The thought of another football season is too much.

Mes parents kept kidnapping me this past week and I think Stockholm syndrome is not always a bad thing. Especially as they take me to fix my autoharp.

I have a friend that sends me poems he writes. I can't remember how it happened. Well, no, I can. He doesn't write the poems FOR me, it's just that one wintry month I discovered his writings and made a comment and now we share poems that we find or that he writes and I tell him what I think. And they're marvelous! This is why I love documentary! Because we're alive and I'm fascinated by how we live and think and travel and what we create. Sometimes it's idealist love, sometimes casual, sometimes in a Samuel Beckett way, but sometimes it's more real and charitable and substantial. Substantial because we've all had times of despair and yet we live on. He just recently sent me a poem and I thought, this is not right that I'm reading and seeing and hearing wonderful things from all of these people. YOU should be reading and hearing and seeing as well. I had just been looking at a website thrown together by a local that produces and sells local music and I thought, AH HA? Can I make up my own documentary production of these writings and showings and sayings and artings? One that's not mode-ish, one that crosses all divides and scribbles out "scenes"? That's why after reading his poem I went immediately to read up on how to form a non profit. I mean, I get ideas sometimes and for five minutes I'm on the moon or even the sun and then we land at the clouds, but maybe I'll finally put together some publication. I'll just start it. With whatever I can get my hands on.

The other quarter of my life is that I reeeeeeeeeed.
For instance,
It finally ended far from the madding crowd, although, I had high doubts it would ever happen. I mean, the book. I was reading Far From the Madding Crowd (that really is the madding crowd until the last chapter when you finally put some distance in there).

Now I'm reading My Antonia and the first few chapters have me dreaming of my prairie home. There's a magic in that landscape.

Lastly, I have one exclamation to make and if you've made it this far...I don't know how I actually feel about blogs. I just told you how I spend my time. I wrote it out for you I know and you I don't know. What is the meaning of this? Is it good? I don't know.
The end.