why didn't someone tell me that I needed to contact Pioneer instead of Prankster re:my 100 things? Boy, is my face red?

1) I run on "hippie-time", get used to it.
2) I can really be melodramatic, never resisit the impulse to tell me to "get a grip"...it is just a friendly reminder that ususally works, & it certainly beats gettin slapped across the face.
3) I act like a spoiled lil kid sometimes...need to be told to clean out my room & then, pout through out the process...geez gitagrip!
4) I am a spoiled big kid...still in my jammies, had the coffee & the cranberry juice, the oatmeal, the dark chocolate and will prob nab more as the day goes on...meanwhile, Bubba is still working on the living room floor & as there is no heat in my junk room, I get to slide out of further cleaning efforts until the temp goes back up.
5) I recently went out of my way to track down an old California buddy & try to get him to join the Stream so we could keep in touch. He always leaves me guessing, though...
6) My opportunity to list my 100 things just disappered into cyberspace when I was on #76...it just went away. I see no recourse but to contact the Prankster & ask if he can & will give me a second chance. I'm thinking about contacting him through his cat. Can Woogie-Cats be bought? If Woogie ordered Prank to bring back my 100 things, I'm thinkin' Prank would get 'er done.

After a good night's rest, this is a good Saturday. I was up @ 6, back to sleep @ 7, and again back asleep, again, by 9. I am rested now, and the whole world is a better lookin place that it was the day before.

A second Indiana court has found ex-Indiana State Trooper David Camm guilty on all 3 counts of murder for shooting his wife, 6 yr old son, and 4 yr old daughter. In a conspiracy with small time, foot-fetish, wierdo Charles Boney, whom Camm intended to take the fall for the crime. Charles was in on the act, but the act was pre-meditated by the cop,& then, carried off by the both of them. Now, they are both found guilty & will both do life. It has been 5 yrs since this ex-cop gave himself an alibi by playing basket ball with friends @ his nearby church gym, then slipped out of the gym un- noticed as he sat a few games out, then came home shot his wife & kids with the assistance of Mr Boney, and then returned to the gym as if nothing had happened sealing, what he thought was his air-tight alibi. It is hypothosized that Camm molested his lil girl, and covered it up by murdering the only folks that could have testified to his sickness. He was found guilty the first time around, but his appeal got the case thrown out, the verdit overturned, as the fact that he had multiple lovers outside of his marriage, well, infidelity does not neccesarily provide intent to murder. I know in my heart that he is guilty, and our tax dollars will be spent futher in vain, when he appeals this last trial. It is truly unspeakable the things that people do to each other. We have come so far, and have yet so far to go...

I was on a jury once...a murder case...another post perhaps. It was difficult, trying, wearying, unnerving...and fruitless. The murderers walked, even though I knew they were guilty. Indecision in 2 other women of "reasonable doubt" hung the jury,10 to 2. It took a whole month, and those two idiot women refused to vote guilty, because a crack-head hooker changed her story several times, once even nodding out on the stand, snoring into the microphone. They refused to believe that the 2 guys on trial had threatened the hooker. It was all about dope and gangs, hokers and pimps. I hope they never track me down to serve again...what a nightmare. Like I always like to say," reality kin just go bite some one else for a while." The reality is money talks, and B.S. walks.

I still have't opened my Paul McCartney DVD, and as Bubba is working indoors, I will keep the peace. Amazon had some kinda 2 for less $ going on, but though curious, am not as excited about Sir Paul. He will no doubt entertain and amuse, but he ain't no Joe Walsh, Don Henley or Glenn Fry. No Jerry Garcia either.

Bubba's done with 2/3 of tiling the living room,& will finish tomorrow when I am on rounds. Soon, he tells me, soon, I will have a functional kitchen sink, which I will never take it for granted. I PROMISE!

I'm gonna go see what he is up to now & perhaps it won't bug him if I make some kinda noise here in the back of the house. A movie at the very least, music if he stays outside. I think we are going to have a bonfire tonight burning the trash. Far more romantic in the balmy warm months, than in these frigid who-know-what's-next Indiana late winters.
Regardless, spoiled rotten, & gone sufing...

In the middle of the night, @1:30AM,@ 4:40AM, and lastly @5:30 AM, the telephone shrills us awake, each rousting us shortly after we had gained the ability to enter our deep,REM phases of sleep. The first call, was quiet, uncontrolled sobbing, no words, just sadness and an aura of hysteria. The second call, more sobbing and a child-like whine complaining of a sore throat and just feeling "really bad", and the last call, the same voice with chid-like innocence, whinning that,"My mouth is so dry, my throat is so sore..." Our words attempting condolances, sympathy, and advice, falling on deaf ears with a short temper, and even shorter attention span. This is Larry's(my Bubba) Mother calling over and over and over, forgetting why she called, who she called, or even that she did, indeed, call at all. Larry took her soup, yogurt, ice cream, throat spray, and cold lozenges around 7ish AM ,after calling her to say he was on the way. She had then been deep asleep, and irritable that he called her so early. She has no recollection of calling at all last night, and is positive that she is allergic to almost all the items of intended items of healing &/or comfort...

This has not released seratonin into our brain chemistry, but quite the opposite, it has ignited a grumpy, disruptive chemical flow(melatonin, perhaps?) into our brains, and our attempts to get a grip, and have a good day, fades away as the morning wears us on,our patience wearing thinner by the hour, just outside of our grasp, just ouside of our control. The day was very long, turning more bitter-cold, and breezy with every seemingly necessary
Friday errand that we were fated to run after the work day was at an end, at last. ended. All we went to do now, is to go to bed early, and try to soothe our frazzeled nerves. But if we fall asleep too early, our own internal clocks will awaken us at some ungodly early hour of the morn, providing that this night remains uneventful by compairison. When music irritates instead of soothes and inspires, then it is a sign of deeply, disturbed brain chenmistry. She is so contrary, so child-like, and so transparently seeking attention. She is lonely in her lil hamlet home, but most folks get on her nerves, so she thinks she wants to be alone, until she decides to think otherwise, shortly before forgetting the dramas of the long, sleepless night in it's entireity. This is one of many nights that have come to pass, and one of countless, unforseen nights yet to come. And there is no answer, no way out, no relief in sight. You can no more reson with dementia than you can with a drunkard.

Other realities weigh heavily on the fringes of my conciouness...things that need to be done, people I want to converse with, places I need to go, stuff I need to get done, but they dizzy me, and I procrastinate them. In my own sleep-deprived dementia, I cannot reason with myself to overcome this nervousness.

OK...once again, I've seen better days. Say a lil prayer that the morrow will become one of them. Dare I hope to stay in my jammies, drinking coffee and decaf tea and cranberry juice, on the one day of the week I try to dedicate to me? Dare I hope to sneak lots of chocolate into that Saturday, and explore my music, my soul, my own peace of mind?

No one, not even ourselves, know why we do the things that we do. Often, all of us are not aware of the reactions that our actions might bring. Open mouth, insert foot. Be sorry. Be vague. Breathe. Go to Jamaica in your mind and float on blue, temperate waters in the sun. Forgive. Forget. Be kind. Be quiet...learn to be still. Learn to let it be. Learn to just be. Don't try to label it, just do the best that you can with all of it... if only there wasn't so much of it... If only you could just let it be...

Seek solace in sleep. Try again tomorrow. Have a good one. I love easily and often, it is who I am, and I make no aplogies, no excuses. You may label it what comforts you most, I must label it love, as it is the only term that works to decribe how I feel. I only do the best that I can do, then wake on the morrow and try to do a lil better. Ya know?

Like the Tom Petty tune? It being kick-back Thursday, & I sailed the day away. Young Issac @ work has Stephen King's "The Cell", and when he was busy elsewhere, he said it was cool if I checked it out. It's about a "pulse" in our cellphones that makes everybody nutzo who puts their cell phones to their ear. I have not read anything this enrapturing since "The Stand." Before the mini-series became available, I read "The Stand" at least annually, and definitly every time I had the flu. Now, when I get the flu, I watch it, as the mini-series somehow managed to do the book exquisite justice. I was ready to come home & order the hardcover and pay the extra buck$ for a quick delivery, but forced myself to get a grip, and then found myself after 101 pages, breaking the rules & skipping to the end(a rarity), and now I can content myself with waiting for the paperback. I'm thinking that this last wkend I heard that Dennis Weaver("McCloud" & "Gunsmoke") had a part in the movie,"The Cell" & that he had just completed his part, when he died...whoa. And the beat goes on...

Glorious Dan has left the Stream, and his latest post does not allow comments as he bids us farewell. Again, to everything, there is a season. I have a rough idea of the melodrama surrounding the sad loss of the English Duo Dreamweavers, DeBunkem, and now, Glorious Dan, but I am confused as to why everyone is so upset with one another... I suppose my blogs are "drivel", but they amuse me, and as I just like to use words, I blog for me. No comments? No problems. Other people's blogs, I visit & surf & comment, but I cannot let the Stream dictate my participation. Sometime, I feel like writing, sometimes I don't. Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't. One man's drivel is some girl's Stephen King...can't we all just get along?

Temperature in Indiana in the process of plummetting more than 20 degrees, and my head is in the process of pummeling me with barometric pressure pains. I came home in a great mood and it is now dissapating with the closing of the day. I will miss Dan, but he is his own man, and at least I had the pleasure of knowing him as much as I did, as long as I did...I do not think that he can be replaced, yet I feel sure I could be, but I can't take the whole trip to heart. My heart is in enough pain... I am forced to "Let It Be", as i really am not a control freak. And I am forced to take a break right now...Bubba's head is pounding, too. We will watch some DVDs, hopefully "Earl" won't be pre-empted for basket ball & we will have a cozy evening with da dogs, laughing whenever possible. We will crash early, quite possibly with duo ice packs on our heads, and I will drift off to dreamland disillusioned as no, in fact, I guess we cannot all get along. I'm hanging in on the Stream. I don't take myself, or anyone but Bubba & the fam & a few buds too seriously. Life is too short, and I get a lot of headaches,

Even with s-l-o-w dial up, I have managed to acquire streamming music from Indy's WTTS-FM. How cool is that? Someday, I will get lil speakers for my computer for better quality, and maybe it won't cut out so often when I can afford broadband or some form of improving what little spectacular technical gadgetry I already have in my posession. For some one as poorly paid as I am, I get by quite nicely with a lil help from my friends(and the fam.). this works

I am waiting to acquire the website address of Bill Graham's vault... maybe that's it..."Wolfgang's Vault" or something like that from an ol' dead head bud to see if I can hook up with Bill's personal stash of shows in the Bay Area in my Glory Daze... I saw it on "CBS Sunday Morning", but just assumed I didn't have the quality crappola needed to get it...but, perhaps, yet once again, I under-estimate my capabilities. Who me?

So, this is a cool turnabout of events...I was really stressed from Sunday Rounds, and inventory with the boss on Tuesday..I swear it altered my brain chemistry. A rough night's sleep. lots of parental nightmares that seemed to come and stay all night(remember that really bad nightmare I had a couple months back when so many Streamers came to my aid & assistance with comfort & advice? Repeat performance.) Woke up, really shakey & drank too much caffienne, trying to combat the grogginess, with only more nervousness to show for it. But skipped out of work a tad early to meet up with Mean Jean(who isn't), the FM tunes were excellent enroute the country roads("Eminence Front" Carlos & Los Lonely Boys, some Steely Dan)(did you know The Who are going to tour again this summer? Hope they aging better than ol' Mick @ the
Superbowl....sheeeesch...ANOTHER PICKY DEADHEAD). The Eagles have only improved with age if that is possible that they could ever improve on their perfection.

Bubba is home from walking the dogs at the Wildlife Reserve...that is his valium. He said his Mom called twice while he was in the woods, but as he is going over there tonight again, anyway, he let it go. Dude, I just go nutz trying to answer my cell or landline...so hard to put it on hold-(I AM PROGRAMMED TO RECIEVE). I force myself to let the answering machine screen calls or just let my cell ring...always, my initial reaction is to please all of the people all of the time, and even tho' I know it won't fly, I still always try. Except for that really rude dude at work-Jeff? I saw an old episode of "The Kids in The Hall", where they sat in lawn chairs in the front yard, squinting one eye, and placing the seeing eye between their forefinger's & thumbs, eyeballing people on the street, pretending they were squeezing the passer-by's head. "I'm gonna squeeze yer head!", the Kid's would say,and press the forefinger to the thumb & using one's imagination, SQUEEZE your view of their head. I make the gesture at the back of Jeff's head as he goose-steps away from me. It is also an insulting gesture to make at men who are driving poorly on the road, indicating that the guy's manhood was "only this big"(about an inch)...I use it often...only a few know what it means, and I don't get caught flipping anyone off. Like Jeff...who needs to be flipped off, but I'll just"squeeze his head" & insult his manhood, & then, we will break even for his blatant rude behavior. Cool, huh? Works for me.

So, like, I am relaxing, unwinding, slowing down now. I swear I can feel my brain chemistry changing, mellowing...and it ain't even 4:20 yet. WTTS just started The Talking Heads, "Burning Down The House"...is this a great life or what? Stephen King has a new book out & my fellow nerds claim it to equal "The Stand" which gave me chills just to think about. Dean Koont'z 3rd "Frankenstein" should be out & about fairly soon, and mayhap I kin get 'em cheap & used @ Amazon.com. Is this a grateful century or what? 70 degrees in Indiana in March...comin' in like a lamb. I kin dig it. I reckon it is global warming & I should be upset over it, but I am in the process of unwinding, so reality kin just go bite some one else right now...I am escaping for awhile...into la musica...and the "surf." OOOOOOOOOOO CLAPTON! who has heard the clapton/carlos/phil collins story with cher backstage...how many times have you heard it? how many times will I tell it again? ooooooooo 4:20...gotta go... oooooo Johnnie Lang...are you having any fun? You gotta know I be.