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Wednesday, February 24, 2021

So I signed a lease today.

I'll share the address Monday when it becomes legal.

But now I wonder about mowing the lawn, shoveling the driveway, where to put the grill -- oh yeah, I have to have a grill for a series of sausages (my new autobiography title).

Such are the anxieties of an address.

The stress I've lived through in the past 10 months, ameliorated by the blessings of friends and strangers, is I just didn't know that the hell was going to happen next.

I've long called it the anxiety of the unknown. 

Worse, I've had this problem over the last 10 months of massive self-judgment.

I drove by nice homes, well-kept, two cars in the driveway, two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard, and wonder -- how did I fail?

This despite my favorite advice from the Buddhist nun Pema Chodron, "Love others, start with yourself."

And, oh, how I have failed. You don't have time to read that blog entry. It likely goes back to my toddler days, according to my mom, when I would stick my finger in a socket. Mom would say I should learn my lesson. I would say, "It's OK mom. That thing won't do that to me again."

There's a fine line between optimism and stupidity.

I promise I won't blow this new start. Or stick my finger in a socket.

And I promise I'll alert all of you, my dear readers, to the new start and the changes.

Peace and no electrical outlets unto you my brothers and sisters.


  1. There is a great sucking sound - first noted by Ross Perot - as he described American jobs stampeding south of the border (to the $2/hour labor pool) when NAFTA was signed. Is why the jobs never came back when Trump got in. Can't find millions a red-blooded MAGA 'Mericans a willin to work afore 2 bucks an hour. But I digress.

    On a more singular level, that great sucking sound engulfs a man in his mid 30s. That whooshing noise in the background of your life is the wind blowing through the narrowing aperture as the door to your youth is closing. The door slams shut around 40. I pissed away from age 35-45 trying to make a living as a writer. When I re-entered the conventional work force - my options were vastly more limited at 45 than they were at 35.

    You hit the job market in your mid 50s? Age discrimination is absolutely forbidden per federal law. But there are a million reasons that can be concocted not to hire somebody. Your damn hard work - and your skill - found you another job.

    Where did you fail? By staying true to your first and best destiny.

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