scrambled notes

I was reading along in my old diary posts when I considered I’ve been incredibly remiss about posting here. I’m not at all sure why. So then the decision was about selection. Choices. “It’s all about choices” someone I worked with always said. Said a lot anyway. It may be true.

Some Random Date

Just from my recall, responses I wish I had given. I don’t know why but I just thought of this last night. Apropos of nothing:

Me: (Calling my mother and getting her on the phone.) John (not his real name of course) and I are going to get married!

Mo: Well I want to wish you good luck because you are certainly going to need it.

I don’t know what I said after that, but I’m sure it was nothing creative. I’ve had a lot of years to think about it since then. What I wish I would have said:

Me: I guess that means you’re a no for the ceremony. (slight pause) A maybe on the reception?

September 18, 2023

Yep. That’s the actual date.

So where are you love—where have you been? I’ve been in a shoe, a box, a football-game bench but do not think I berate… Forgot again again? And the pain given up for whatever’s behind The wait.

I came here to note something down. Now I’m ready so I can go dumb.

Morbs! I have the morbs from all my thinking-about. Morbs is from morbid and is used as an abstract noun, originated in the 1880s. And I’m sure it’s a word that would fit in a current Urban Dictionary.

The above is just to show the groanings my mind goes through as it casts about for some meaningful topic or vision—or something—anything to merit a distraction. See? This is why people turn to drugs.