Oh, fiddlesticks, I missed a post yesterday
Here it is another Friday night, and I’m sitting in a local cafe because I’m still too broke to get wi-fi at my apartment, and I’m living with what could be described as a lack of intimate yin energy in my immediate surroundings, or at least no yin energy that says stuff like, “It’s Friday night, sweetie, and I wanna see a movie.” So I go to the local cafe instead, alone, but not sad, because I want to write, but I’m too beat from a long day to fabricate anything remotely interesting. Usually, on Fridays, I’m toast, too crinkly to go out on the town and raise gosh darn heck.
I did not post yesterday. I got up really early so I could meet a guy from my company at a restaurant up in Roseville at 7 a.m., and I watched him go around and check out how the pest control was going. Then we went to this big LEED Platinum corporate campus, and I got to sit in on a meeting where they hashed out some details, and then I went out and watched a new route technician perform his services. Then, after lunch, I drove to Stockton to talk to the manager there, and then back to the office.
By the time I got home, I really didn’t feel like doing much of anything, so I never made it down to the coffeehouse to write. I’ve felt like I was on the cusp of coming down with something anyway, and when my body gives me those obvious signs that say: You better chill in bed and watch old Dragnet episodes or go to sleep, then that’s what I do, Even if I’ve heard that the original incarnation of Montrose fronted by Sammy Hagar is blasting out serious buttrock across the street, for free, or Buck Owens has come back from the dead to do an acoustic set. Or even if every hipster in town is at some special artsy thang at Bows & Arrows, and if I show up I might get my picture in Midtown Monthly‘s little who’s who section next month.
Fuggit, I’m whipped tonight. So screw you guys, I’m going home. More tomorrow. —Jackson Griffith