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Routines. Can be a dose. Trudging through drudgery. Recycling days. Waiting until they run out. Hogs grounding to a halt. Slowly but surely. Work. Dinner. TV. Sleep. Unless, of course, you like your work, I imagine it’s a bit of a dose, to be true. On the other hand, having no routine whatsoever, can also be a bit of a dose. Too much free time. Too much to do. Too much freedom. All of which. Seems to be making me quite dumb. Err. Making me highly interested in innocuous events. Such as. Buying a new type of soap. Not sure which kind. Just soap. However. Now. Every time I walk into my bathroom. My eyes water up. Pepper sprayed. Making me fall to my knees. And puke. Only stopping when I eventually manage to crawl back out of the bathroom. Leaving the soap behind. Well, maybe only one of those things happen. Still though. The fact that that scenario has played out in my head, did make me realise that freedumb might have taken over my mind. Trying to decide if that’s now a good or bad thing.

A Squirrel?

Make sure to avoid stagnation has been my aim for the past week. Which is why I have being summoning something I lack by a country mile… patience. Never had it. Always a restless ape. Assuming things will just fall into place as quickly as I imagine they should. So. If and when they don’t just transition smoothly from one thing to another, it sends a squirrel running around my brain. Hyper A.D.D filled squirrel. Throwing nuts at me. Telling me to hurry up. Jumping around like a mad man. Trying to reason with the squirrel. Simmer. I can’t just expect it to fall into place like a jigsaw. Must wait for others. Must chill more. And yet knock some more. Push. Pull. Delicately. ‘What the funk are you blowing on about?!’ I imagine the squirrel then thinks to himself. Just make it happen faster! Make it work now!’ Chill. You dumb squirrel. Sit. Have a nut. Eventually the squirrel simmers down. And a sea of patience hits him in the head.

And, Em, Now A Goat?

Some sea of gibberish just washed over me there to be true. Not sure where that came from. Squirrel on. Being honest, my examples, metaphors or analogies have been a bit bizarre, as of late. By the look of it, I might be developing some sort of perverse animal fetish. Not sure what I was trying to compare yesterday, but I used the analogy… Imagine you caught me in bed with a naked goat. Ok. Imagine that. Now. It would kind of be exactly like that. But at the same time, not at all. If you get me. Do you get me? Which was obviously met by the question ‘Are you on dru… no… what kind of drugs are you on?’ Understandable, I do suppose. Although, now I think about it, that has been a reoccurring question a fair bit lately… Are you on drugs?’ Along with… ‘Are you gay?’ Two side effects of writing a book, it would seem. I should really write a whole blogaruu on that. Book on. Dumb for free.

Not sure where this gibber is leading. However, the dish is flowing, so goodbye rhyme or reason. At least the gibberish is good for one upcoming thing. Return. Stand up. Sit down. Giddy back up on that horse! More in the horizon besides that as well. A return to I-R-Land is on the cards next month. Book promo on. Before then though, plan is to make a book trailer. Meetings and balls are rolling. And, while I am at it, film myself doing all of this. Basically recording more of myself is the next step I must start to do. Well. Not everything. Obviously. Can’t have videos of me being caught with a naked goat appearing on the web. Obviously.

Miss. Mass. Mistake.

Not sure where this is going. Reminds me of the other day. When I wasn’t too sure what to do. Went to mass. Easter Sunday. Headed down. No Orgy Joe. No priest getting me drunk. Just very high brow. And by that, I mean high eye brows. Church was mostly filled with plastic looking cougars, faces and eyebrows injected to the max. Along with guys who had the thinest of highly arched waxed eyebrows. High eyebrows all round. One Freddie took a shine. By cougar. I mean an older, older, older lady. Although, to be fair, 70 is the new 60 these days. Oddly, when she came up to me afterwards, she knew I was Irish, without me saying a word. Bizarre. It is L.A though. Bizarre a dozen.

Anyways. Back to being in mass. Time came for the first of three collections. Notes in my pocket. Exactly. Five notes. Assumed they were all the same. Basket thrust under my nose. Randomly took a note out. Horsed it into the basket. Took no notice. Until it glanced back at me. Corner of my eye. Caught. Balls. All those notes weren’t the same amount. One chunky one. Which. Obviously. Would have to be the one I horsed in. Which is when I was hit with the thought. Predicament. Should I. Could I. Just take it back. Swap it for the one I meant to put in. Or. Is it possible.  To take change from the basket. Got a smile from the grumpy dude who was collecting the money. Who then proceeded to prod the girl next to me. Until she eventually gave in. And gave the amount I had intended to give. Gutted. Grabbing my hand. Holding it back. Restraining. From refunding myself. Easter Sunday. Couldn’t do it. Unintentionally. Feeding the church with money. Maybe that’ll buy me some karma. Great story.

Screaming Like A Pregnant Man.

As is the one from the gym earlier. The one where the guy on the machine next to me kept screaming like a pregnant woman. Aaaaaaarrrrrghhhhh!!!’ Chill out buddy… Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhhhh, push it out!’ Got a bit more intense. I must have been looking at him a bit too quizzical. Seeing as he started to stare me down. While aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgggghhhh’ing away. Focusing his arghs on me. Making me lose my focus. And kind of drop a weight on my fingers. A kind of heavy old weight. Making me wonder if it was acceptable to cry in the gym. Leading to there being a man screaming like a pregnant woman on one machine. And an ape on the machine next to him, crying like a baby. Mighty night at the gym. Migh. Tay. 

Hello. Hhhhmmmm. It's Me. Mmmmhhhmmmm.

I wonder if it’s the extra few notches of heat that has me rambling beyond belief. LA is getting hotter. Might just be that. At least I can edit these gibber rambles. As opposed to recent voice mails I’ve left over the past few days. Distracted rambles. Plus. Answering machines. Do not mix so well. I blame that odd looking bird out the window. Swaying and floating mid-air, in a drunk-looking fashion. Kind of odd. Brutal voice mail. Think I mentioned the bird in the voicemail. And that I was making a cup of tea. Brutal. Barely knew the guy.

Although. Probably better than my heavy breathing, panting like a peudo voice mail I left for someone of note yesterday. Panting like a man in heat. Walking up a steep hill. In a hot climate. Leaving a voice mail. With a case of the rambles. Mighty. Phew. Agh. Jeekers. Some heat. Some hill. So anyways, what was I saying, are you still on the phone, oh yeah, forgot this was your answering machine, Jesus, this hill, sweating like a whu… and so on. Still waiting for that call to be returned. Pants off. Pant on. Wait off. Gibber on?

Eh. Not sure what that was. Too much freedom? Trying to find a routine of some sort? Eh. Yeah. Should probably stopped way back. Shhh. Let’s just say… what what? Free the dumb. Savage song…

Wait & See – Diamond Rings

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