Days and days of silence, followed by a split-second's sweet, soothing noise

Actually, it was the other way around -- the soothing noise is the drudgery of work, the silence was an entire week's worth of Texas right here in Colorado. Good to see you, buddy. Hope you get back soon.

Changes are coming, friends. They come slowly, and in the tiniest of increments, almost imperceptible increments, hardly worth noting. But they're a-comin' none-the-less. Take, for instance, the gloomy cloud of gloom that's been rubbing its balls on my soul for the past few years. Soon, that fuckmist will be heading down the road to bother someone else.

Yes, I can tell. It's coming soon. Or rather, it will be going soon.

To help it along, I'm doing tricksy little things to break it down.

I make lists.

Lists of things I like. Little likeable things that brighten those less likeable moments of the day, like earlier when I was on the phone, talking to a friend, making loud retard sounds (duuuuueeeeeeeeerrr!) and moving my hand in that way that retards do (severely bent wrist, slapping against the chest) while just barely outside my realm of awareness (behind me, to the right, on the other side of a parked car) a REAL LIFE RETARDED LADY in a wheelchair was being loaded into a van with the aid of a helper. She and her helper looked right at me, the helper with something like derision, the retarded woman with interest or maybe the excitement one feels when one recognizes a peer. (By the way, I was only attempting to describe to my friend on the other end of the line how "retarded" I would be if I tried to play the guitar left-handed like Jimi Hendrix or Elizabeth Cotten. See?)

Anyway, I blew it. I was, at least for the moment, a walking pee stick.

So, I recite my list of little lovies.

1) I love those carnitas tacos they sell at Viva Burrito on Leetsdale.
2) I love clean sheets.
3) I love not having a real job, although the money sucks. (normally, I'd have start over as a result of that secondary negative point, but this is really just for demonstration purposes.)
4) I love crunchy peanut butter.
5) etc.

These are all dinky things that I love. Nothing big, nothing important. Nothing to get anyone's dander up.

Baby steps.

With baby steps, I will rehabilitate my damaged sense of joy -- the sense of joy that has been mutilated by the last decade, probably due to the fact that I am surprisingly unprepared for adult life. I seem to get dumber the older I get, and if that's the way it has to be, then I accept that. There's a strange beauty in dumbness. Dumbness is the new smartness.

This will succeed, even if it takes decades.

Jk.