My friend Chuck, who passed away on January 25, came to me in a dream last night. It's such a gift when someone who's passed visits you in a dream. Ordinarily I'd think that, anyway. In this dream, I was trying to take a dump and Chuck was standing at the door. (I can imagine the psychological implications behind that one.) Fortunately, I "felt the urge" only my dream--you know how you hear about people who piss the bed because they dreamed there were in the bathroom? Well, thank God that didn't happen!
Speaking of... Shit has been hitting the fan in my house lately. I can't go into detail, only that I have no use for the whole "teenage wigger" culture and everything that goes with it (use your imagination). Full-time now and there's no end in sight. I've said here before that the worst part of the stepparent role is you have no authority, but let me tell you, there's no fucking way I'm living in a house with rap music, so at least that has stopped. But your pal here in Las Vegas is miserable these days, and I can't even frame it in a way where hey, at least it's funny material for my comedy. Trust me, there's nothing funny about it. Everything I see disgusts me.
So happy Monday, huh? Actually, work is a real bright spot (never thought I'd be writing that!). In fact, I told my boss if he put a cot in my office, I'd probably never leave. Oh, how life has its twists and turns.
Funny that my last post was, "There is always joy. Always. Somewhere." Not seeing it right now.