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I don't really want to write this morning.

It's not that I have nothing to say - I always have shit to say.

I just don't want to put the things I am thinking about saying down on paper.

Paper being a euphemism for writing on this blog or, whatever.

Etta James singing to me does that; makes the things I have deep inside tearing me up come to the surface.

I was wondering what it would be like to live in another country.

Imagine that, a Mexican-American emigrating to another country because he's sick of America.

I love this country, I am just embarrassed. By our POTUS. By the people who elected him. By the people who still support him.

I'm applying for a bunch of jobs. Need something that pays a little better than the libary. Breaks my heart to do that but, it is what it is.

I'm still going to drive the boat on weekends. C'mon, getting paid to be on the water is the tits.

Power was out all day yesterday and into the night. Candle light should have been romantic as fuck. Except that this is Florida and it was hot and muggy as fuck.

Ball soup is never romantic. Ever.

Have a day.


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