Not mining
That was supposed to say “warming up the keyboard” but the amazing foldable keyboard is cold. Cold cold cold. I can not use it tonight, instead I have to punch these words up letter-by-letter with the miniqwerty platan. The amazing floldable flippable keyboard is, like all technology, devolving into cheap worthless plastic high tech/low junk.
God fuck I wish this keyboard worked right tonight because I really want to type sentences all at once and not poke out word by letter by word by lettered word.
Talk turned today toward throwing our mother into a nursing home. It is not a new idea these past years but things have evidently taken turns toward bullshit and her safety may be at risk. I do not know the day-to-day but I know that we Thomases are congenital liars so I can not know what to believe. We lie but we lean toward honesty and decency once the lie is challenged. My father lied several times a day and my mother does too so I expect that my sister and I fill our conversations about our mother with lies. Zeitgeist lies that cede to honesty and mother’s best interests but a thicket of lies to bivouac nonetheless.
I am at a familiar place overhearing strangers talk of marriage. Drunk persons, drunk women cursing all men who ever lived and demanding action from them all. Action! Because all men are pigs! SELFISH PIGS! “THEY’RE ALL THE SAME! N-N-N-N-N-NO HE’S A SELFISH PIG!”
I used to feel safe talking to drunk persons. Anything I said would be for-fucking-gotten by sunrise if not the top of the hour. Nowadays I do not waste my precious energies mining for Castañeda-esque insights from the overheard detritus of drunk persons. They mostly smoke, too, and that shit’s nasty.
