Halloween went well. Lovey and I got dressed up, and I slam-danced at a punk rock cover show - and wound up misplacing my wife and carrying a dead dove home.

Life is strange.

Fuckin' tired. Haven't slept a wink, and probably won't because my stepson will be awake in a couple of hours (if not sooner), and this is virtually all the free-time I can look forward to in the foreseeable future.

Flat broke, and didn't have the necessary funds to get myself a new pair of boots and suspenders this pay period; probably won't be able to next round, either, but that's life. With a little polish and Gorilla Glue my current boots will last as long as they need to, but are showing obviously signs that retirement is imminent.

Since I'll probably get an hour of sleep during the day (if I'm lucky), I bet my bottom dollar that I won't even make my long-sought trip to Wilson's Book Store tomorrow.

I have a theory (no mere hypothesis) that maturity is the natural result of your soul being ground down into a fine powder from years of stifling humdrum. That's why older heads don't have many interests or hobbies, and focus solely on their troubles and everyday inanities.

All in all, I love my life as it is, but wish that I didn't feel so damned old and worn. I wish I had more time and money to do something that was stimulating and fun that my loved ones could participate in without being bored. I wish a lot of things, et cetera, but that's not how things work.

I think I'm going mad. Part vitamin deficiency (no sunlight = bad for business), part brain damage (one too many psychedelic journeys, perhaps?), and chronic depression (environment and heredity).

My step-son is staying with his grandparent's because I don't make enough money to live in a suitable environment, and once he's old enough to know better, he'll probably despise me on general principle. I believe his mother will follow suit once enough time has passed.

I need a new job, because the one I have is soul-deadening, but I haven't acquired enough experience to move on to greener pastures yet. My patience is wearing thin, but what can't helped must be endured. One day I'll have a gig that I can tolerate based upon the adequacy of income, because a dream job is exactly that...a dream, which is an ephemeral aspiration held by immature delusional sorts. I am one of these sorts, but for how much longer, one cannot say.

All in all, everything should be fine, but for reasons that escape me, things seem bleak. Objective thinking says "Things are peachy; negative thinking is habitual and doesn't accurately represent reality." However, perspective at present says "You're doomed. You are failing at your duties as father and husband, and your foibles have cost them the future they deserve." Then it proceeds to chew me out in a briskly paced Japanese rant.

Then there are the other lingering anxieties and troublesome thoughts.

I need to improve.

Had the "swimming brains" feeling again this evening while visiting in-laws. Ears popped a couple of times, and since this is Florida (with an elevation of -20 ft.) I thought that it was rather odd that they should be doing that.

Lately I've been wondering whether or not a lot of repercussions for abusing body and brain have been cropping up, but I figure this is what people who lived during the later 60's through the end of the 90's are feeling once they begin to push age 30.

...hell with it. I'm making beans, and I've forgotten the purpose of this rant.

Toodle-oo.