Sept. 19

how much time do you spend managing your thoughts?
unwanted thoughts bring unwanted feelings; they must be managed.
you walk into a room and donít want to be lectured:
you do not want debate:
you are the customer:

you have made a decision:
if it is the wrong one, that is for you to live:
but your decision negatively impacts someone else:
so they feel they have the right to tell you their opinion:
yes, itís the world of the arts, of dance, itís irrational,

but the 16 year old Ė imagine Ė 16 years on this planet and she knows better than the woman running that business,
that you donít fucking pressure people into doing things.

does anyone like being pressured?
thoughts for an MBTI morning.




Sept. 18

I got a cheque for 80 cents and a mosquito bite on my left forearm.

Nervously scanning the room
in my pyjamas






Sept. 17

woke from a deep long sleep knowing it was late: the sun was brightly streaming and the beds were all empty and cold.
jumped up without coffee and began vacuuming flies before the overcooked coffee impacted me
knowing it was going to take several hours for my brain to be alert: and yes, indeed, here I am, one pm,
taking stock.

the muffled voices of the cbc come from over the microwave, while laundry cords squeek and circular saws screech.
the blue skies hold the sunís heat and warms this building:
the nake project manager begins her week.









Sept. 16th

hot. Itís hot. sticky, buggy, sticky and buggy, and hot.
as we dragged ourselves through Chinatown in midday,
the young and the tattooed bared all, midriffs, included.
we were heading towards different things, on this hot and delayed Sunday.
he noodles, me eggs, he a non-existent teacup, me a white shirt,
he braving a silent storm, me with eternally lofty goals.

it seems an endless parade I do, up and down the hallway,
vacuum in hand, a never-ending pile of dishes which this moment are clean,
mattresses to be piled, sheets to be washed, socks to be matched,
and a never-ending trail of complaints following my trail, no matter how many times I do it.
it includes endless trecks to the grocery store; endless buying the wrong snacks; endless disappearing milk;
endless aches and pains and itches and hip snappings and whining and endless asking about socks
while never in fifty three years has anyone on this planet asked me if I need anything.


September 15
mid September already

nothingís stopping you.

except you.






September 14th

Florence makes landfall




September 13

Thursday morning darkness and stale coffee, at least itís hot. and me in the dark.
this morning Iím thinking about how Iíve replaced my real world social life with an online one,
no, there are not people around a table drinking cabernet, but it fills the Te need to interact.
itís cheaper. There are no dishes to do. Iíve decided not to let anyone tell me otherwise.

thereís a big hurricaine heading towards the Carolinas.
in this day and age itís political. Just like whether or not I speak in a meeting.
political. No one really cares about the quality of anything anymore.
all thatís left is spin.
spin Florence spin.


Some days, that firey ENTP just runs through my mind.



September 11

There isnít much better than waking up with a song in your head. Itís a kind of freedom of brain that means the brain is good.
it gets to live in itself and be free. This ENTJ embraces such things with glorious fever. Itís the fuel which drives me.

Where death comes full circle; from being about the end of everything to being about the reason for everything.



september 10

itís monday and the child also did not want to be awake so early. the virus that inhabited my body yesterday is stillaround but Iím hoping that if I ignore him he will just leave. Like walk out the door.
The ears are still ringing like a symphony but at least the brain is finding words. Distracting as fuck but I digress.
I did wake up with a thought on my mind and I am determined to spit it out here.
Vera Reifenstein. Oh God this is scary but honestly, letís say I WANTED her to FIND themep, what those chances would be are slimmer than an html page.
as I moved my physical self around the kitchen from mustard to hummus and back to coffee again I could not get her happy working face out of my mind.
I saw her in the lobby last week looking busy and important. And this morning in the kitchen as my dizzy body moved as quickly as possible around the kitchen
that face came to my mind and with it, the fact that she gets up very early every day to take the train 2 hours to an office to be excited about work.
Iíve been ENTJ all my life folks, and work has never, but never, been as important as real life for me. Thatís the bottom line. I come first. ME. Time for the mEp,
time for sleep, time for dinner parties, time for family, time for friends. Ö†† so you gotta wonder. You just gotta wonder.

Why do people devote so much of themselves to work for an entity that doesnít care about them. So illogical to me.

Of course I care more about the company than my personal advancement, how can I be employed if I donít.

the washing machine spins and the child sits on a bus and none of this, even the coffee, has left me feeling any better, in fact I feel worse for having written that.




september 9th 2018

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† A room full of teens with brain-bouncing music is robbin a throbbing brain from words.