This Post Has Had About A Dozen Different Names...

Yet, somehow got stuck with that one in the end...

Hey America,

How you livin? Good Good, tell your momma hey for me.

Anyhow, I've had a weird last couple of days... months... years... Etc...

Yeah, more so, I've had this odd feeling of unsettlement over the last couple of days. I'll see or smell or hear different things, and it sends me into one man mental tangents. My mind is hijacked for a moment by all these different things. It's really just kind of, different. It's good I can be so eloquent or expressive about the experience, since i'm writing about it and all.

I like cookies, yet, i'm suddenly conscious of my wasteline. (odd overpersonal interjection)

The other evening, all of 2 nights past, I was over at mom's house. The kids, not to refer to them in some demeaning fashion, have been moving for sometime. Moving back from Pittsburgh, to Mom's house, then to their condo. That wasn't a complete sentence, but honestly, it doesn't really matter. Anyhow, they'd allowed some of the less important or essential things to fall by the way side, down in mom's basement. As I came upon the pile, on my way to our makeshift smoking lounge in the basement, i felt this sudden rush of longing yet sadness attached to all the various benign items. It felt like I was the medic strolling through a battlefield, corpses and limbs and gore strewn about the sand. I don't know how that's considerably benign, but theres a chance that a medic would know theres nothing he could do about it all. I think i'm expressing discontent and remorse, suggesting that those items reminded me of who I was then, and how much I didn't like that person.

Happened again all of a few minutes later. I was flipping through Jen's collection of old pictures, all neatly stored and arranged in some high class shoebox featuring pooh bear, and this sudden sadness came over me. There was a picture of me hanging out of Reilly's sundance, pretty smashed, at age 14/15. I was a lot heavier then, those were the 5'10" 250 days. Not a great version of me. And, the odd part is sometimes, i still feel like that's me. That internal selfimage or what not, that makes us selfconscious and remorseful of what we think we look like.

The oddest part about both of these experiences is that I was feeling great about myself all but a day before. I had a great evening out at a bar, was feeling good about myself. Even met a nice young lady who seemed to fancy me and all. Nicki, 3rd year English major at Baldwin Wallace University, and works in a library. Stop trying to picture her, you're wrong, and while she was very sweet but not too innocent. Had a little alternative bad girl side to her, made her even more appealing some how. Either way, I was sweet and charming and confident, and again, she fancied me. So, cheers.

There was actually a moment of great joy interjected right between those two incidents mentioned above. There were pictures of Davie Boy, a.k.a. D-Baby, K$, muh nigga, back in 97/98. He looked like such a child, it was really funny. That young boyish look, it was actually sort of elf like. Anyway, there was a lot of love there. There was this one where he's got a ciggi hanging out of his mouth and he's counting money, sitting in the front seat of the Saturn. Very pimp, I don't really remember the situation surrounding the photo, but it was really funny.

Might I add, I think that West Wing Week was an excellent idea. And, cheers to Bravo for doing so. I can litterally watch this show 24 hours a day, and be completely fufilled as a person. That is it's level of excellence. I think it's actually a very transperant liberal conspiracy, and no one has to die. Well, actually that's not true, but atleast we're not the ones stealing elections and invading foreign nations. But, Bush might have to die. I was actually thinking of the software, or virus, or whatever you want to call it that the NSA or CIA or APFTA might use to track verbal and written threats on the president, and how amazingly overloaded it's got to be. I'm so amazed that no one's tried to take that bastard out, I really am. Actually, I am really not, we the extreme left aren't gun toating nuts or NRA members, or KKK members, or small minded bigotists, seperatists, assholes. Ohhh, but we could rent one.

Actually, the point I was intended to make. This show personally inspires me to a level I can't possibly explain. It makes me want to make the world a better place for all people.

People have phenomenal capacity - Jed Bartlet.

Let's hope that's true.

-Rys4K

p.s.- I'm sure I had more to say, but theres only so much time, and always a tomorrow.