Man, I got issues

I've tried to post two different videos & yet nothing. So now I'm left to type what ony the guitar, bass, & drums can say.

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It's 9:29 am.
Garlic bagel?
Check.
Coffee?
Check.
It must be
Friday.

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I havne't eaten a piece of fruit all week. I'm sure I bought fruit from Trader Joes but can't seem to remember to look in the fridge for it.

Damn.

I forgot my lunch today.

Damn.

I guess I'll have to visit the sandwich station in the cafeteria.

Just so you know.

Their idea of fresh mozeralla is not the same as mine & no one would describe the eggplant as super-yummers.

I ate all of my trail mix. I only have a few chili spiced mangos left.

I guess you could call that fruit, but I don't count dried fruit-- do you?

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I have to go have a drink with work people tonight. The thought of staying in Purchase, Rye, Port Chester, or whereever this is is depressing. It's someone's birthday tonight & Brooklyn seems so far away.

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I've been noticing fingers this week. Esp. fingers with nice to large-sized rocks on them.

I wonder what that is like/ I wonder what it is like to be able to afford to buy that.

This sort of wondering makes me feel old & alone.

Sometimes I feel too young & out of place. Then I come to work and out of place is replaced with displaced.

Sucks. Sigh. Sucks.

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This morning is the type of morning I wish I could crawl back in bed, put my head on a lovers' shoulder and be enveloped in her arms.

Obviously not an option.

In other words.

Sucks. Sigh. Sucks.

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My back hurts. Sleeping on a bed of thorns doesn not build character so much as it builds resentment.

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Eleven Eleven (1111) has accepted a poem of mine. Cool!

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I'm going to catch up on basketball by reading smack on Dimemag.com

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I shoot. You rebound. Brick city where we be? Yes. That. Too.

Alas, sigh.