I’m maybe applying to grad school and also in the middle of both job hunts and clients hunts while making sustenance money taking food from restaurants to people at work/home/play.
Times like these are what being OK with making the occasional late payment would be nice. I either need to make a specific arrangement to pay late or be able to schedule a payment with knowledge of guaranteed funds. I have neither. So, I should stop blogging and start up this god forsaken delivery app again.
As Des’ree says in the worst song ever written: “Life, oh life, oh life, oh life…”
It may sound crazy, but it’s just in my head that we’re all in my head.
Why else would I pass the same PT Cruiser parked outside of every Starbucks? Add to that: why are there so many Starbucks and Chipotles and the like littered around? I’m out of material.
I never was that good of a writer, but I’m clearly relying on tropes at this point based on the number of times my GPS tells me to turn onto a Cleveland street that’s in a completely different part of town.
Why else would they have tried to reboot Murphy Brown a few years back? and Roseanne? and the Wonder Years? and an entire cable network about gaming and tech? It’s all in my head and I’m out of ideas.
I delivered food to two women back to back with my sister’s then niece’s names–initial and all.
And why else would there be an endless supply of panel shows on YouTube with the same 13 British comedians put on shuffle like the world’s least creative ensemble cast from a mid-90s sitcom?
“CONTINUE STRAIGHT ONTO AGRICULTURE DR,” The constantly lost GPS inside my food delivery app yells at me.
I get out of my car and shuffle through the leaf-strewn front yard of one of the many (but shrinking) gracefully aging houses in this town that all seem to have the same face now.
I check the phone, call out a familiar name, ready for it to be another coincidence, but when I look up the Allie M. really is a person I haven’t seen in a decade.
Things are fading fast, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep the Monkey Bone of it all up. The repeats are growing in frequency and intensity and I know that I don’t know enough material to have reality go on in my mind unwrapped. Surely they’ve pulled plug, because this might sound crazy, but it’s just in my head that we’re all in my head.
But look closer at the image — a snapshot of two Democratic leaders with a decades-long alliance — and something appears to be terribly off: Both Bidens tower over the Carters and the rest of the scene, as if they had been transported into a dollhouse.
It really is the strangest thing that still instantly takes you to a place of grieving. For me, 9 times out of ten, it’s the simple act of seeing something I think my mom would like and wanted, so badly, to share it with her.
This time, it was a cover of June Carter and Johnny Cash’s 1963 song “Jackson” by Trixie Mattel and Orville Peck.
It’s a great cover, but that’s really not the thrust of why I got sad. My mom loved country. It was one of her go-to genres of music (the other “genre” was just the Eagles discography), but I certainly couldn’t say the same. Except, there was always a place in my heart from country music from the 60s. The kinds of songs that would be a top hit if they were covered by Nancy Sinatra. (“Jackson” was in fact covered by her in 1967 and reached 14 on the Billboard charts.)
I also love covers and Trixie mattel and Orville Peck. I especially loved that my mother loved the 60s-country-sounding songs that I had played her by Trixie.
So, that’s where my brain went this afternoon when I saw the new music video and I had a nice little cry.