The happy place

This here is the space into which I put some of the thoughts which have been gathering inside my head. Mostly mundane stuff as I am not that original

I’m at the sushi joint, waiting for a so called bibimbap, they’re all full of stuff in there, in the food. However the chef coughed just now. Wonder if there’s cough in my bibimbap.

That would be unfortunate.

Now some idiot woman is asking them for wooden spoons. First she asked twice whether there was chicken in her food. They said yes twice. Now she’s wondering about wooden spoons. Why would they have wooden spoons in there? Does it look like an ice cream shop to her?

I bet she’s one of those entitled parents, you know? — or worse yet: a middle school teacher, who has this way of talking down to other people, like whoever she talks to she also teaches something, you know? Like she would have to ask twice in case they didn’t understand her the first time…

Wooden spoons…

She can shove the wooden spoons where the sun don’t ✨ shine.


Now I have eaten the bibimbap. The world isn’t so terrible.

I hope the middle school teacher found some wooden spoons for her chicken.

teachers and parents are the golden link between past and future.

May she ✨ shine like a su

I am up before the sun today, lying here on the blue sofa with the dogs resting on my chest, listening to Break the Ice by Britney Spears, have you heard of her? It’s from a playlist of my favourite songs, I think.

But that changes with the mood so much that such a playlist doesn’t make any sense for me to have.

The black dog is a great source of inspiration these mornings, he has such a great mood; I have never felt nearly the same enthusiasm to start a new day; before the sun is up, even, I feel absolutely terrible; it’s only through mighty force of will that I pull it together.

He just sat his ass down on my face.

But I am having some coffee now and some time alone with my own thoughts, dogs and Britney Spears.

Hello again it’s me!

I’m not actually a fitness weapon, yet.

I am a DOG LOVER!

I’ve weaponised my fitness!

Do you know what I mean?

Like?

What pearls of wisdom shall I share today?

Do you ever have the feeling that you’ve forgotten something important, like a dog?

Or your keys?

Or birthdays?

Sometimes I’ve got ten thousand thoughts up in the head!! Sometimes I forget stuff I do!!

It’s really crowded up there in the brain!! I forget every day, so I write my thoughts down or else they will be lost, maybe forever!!

🧚 🧚‍♀️ 🧚‍♂️ 🧚 🧚‍♀️ 🧚‍♂️

it’s like a lasagna in the head.

This reminds me of this line of text from Pistolvania (Shuko remix is the best version) by Vinnie Paz:

[…]

But if you disrespect my mother or […] And the 50 Cal make your Face look like spaghetti look at this fetti Look at all this beautiful shit A south Philly scumbag wearing Gucci and shit It's over!

Do you know this feeling? Can you relate to this?

Ok I lost my train of thought now.

But the train ride continued off rail

Because it’s not an actual train, it’s a figure of speech.

I would’ve pulled the lever.

Because passivity is my arch enemy.

I’m reading MOBY DICK, (it’s written with caps lock on the cover). A book very rich in symbolism; reading it feels like drinking concentrated juice, thinks I.

🧃

Coincidentally, it’s that very same book which Rory Gilmore read — sitting leaning against a lush green tree; so captivated, that when a football came flying close to her head, she didn’t react at all.

I hide the rest because it contains some spoilers maybe from Gilmore Girls

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I see why the Vikings didn’t distinguish between blue and black, because when I look at the sky, it’s both. Or either.

It’s always dark outside nowadays.

When it’s sunlit, I spend the day confined inside — waiting for a build to complete, for example.

But I had one comma, too many, causing the fool thing to fail.

So there I sit, spending the valuable hours of sunlight, spending my finest years, waiting for the verdict: one comma too many.

But I am a creature of the dark. For example, I made this cool Gothic-Victorian steampunk look on my Pokémon GO character: a top hat with goggles, and her face, too, has goggles.

It amuses me greatly to have glasses on the face AND on the forehead.

It only makes sense if, for example, you care about redundancy.

If you work with TIER1 systems, for example.

Some would say you ought to treat yourself like a TIER1 “business-critical” system, but that level of reassurance is a prison.

And an illusion.

Because what protection does double glasses provide, if you are struck by lightning?

You have to get out into the black-blue yin-yang of a moonless night, armed with wit and a single pair of glasses, to face all the dangers — and live.

Mmm

Even in this miserable weather, I saw a teenage girl jump into the cold puddles, laughing; seizing the moment.

To see her jumping like that —without a care for her white shoes or trousers — felt like an act of rebellion against the cold and dark.

Even in the cold moonless blackness of autumn, with these cold brown puddles, her laughter seemed to radiate like the sun.

It made me smile.

👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ Hello there!

👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️

How do you like this: I’ve signed up again for some dance fitness

👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️👀

A side of 👀 me I haven’t honoured,

To express myself through 👁️ 👁️ 👁️ 👁️👀 Music!! Dance!! And fitness!!

To once more step up onto step board, the nosebleed doesn’t matter

I don’t feel it,

I feel only myself being one with the beat!

Pandora — tell the world

Stomp on the ground!!

And what more? I don’t know!

A beautiful sight to behold when man becomes music and dancing

A manifestation of art and

Fitness

Before, a fog rising toward the gray sky smudged everything, like a half-hearted watercolor painting. Now, it’s dark blue—nay, black.

And it’s not even night, although maybe it is.

J in me a fog too is rising, but it is not gray; it is red. And it puts a soft, warm glow on there.

That’s too good but it’s thanks to the 🍷 wind, nay wine

A welcome sensation indeed

I had hoped to find some exciting treasures in the cat litter box — maybe a fossilised dinosaur bone or a golden figurine — as I was busily performing sort of an archeological dig in there — but found nothing of value.

Is there a lesson to be learned from this excavation?

A lesson, maybe, in the futility of hoping for what cannot be?

A hope, maybe, to find meaning where there is none?

But from where, then, did this golden figurine of wisdom come?

I excavated it, just now, from the cat litter box.

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