Well, really, truly, foaming-at-the-mouth angry.  Being a little tweaked can lead to some interesting posts, but don’t do it when full of unfocused rage.  ’Cause blogging when a red haze clouds the vision leads to bad choices of words, and that’s just not a good thing.

So, I’ve stayed away, choosing that advice over succumbing to the bitter, nasty jumble of words and phrases just poised at the edge of my fingers, waiting to escape onto this screen.

When I was a wee-boy growing up in Duluth, I had problems with my temper.  I would say nasty things, behave atrociously, and was just a real pain at times.  One day someone said “Nate, you’re talking from your stomach too much.  Don’t speak from your stomach, just use it to start from.  It’s all just noise and smelly gas in your stomach.  Speak from your heart and your head.  That’s where you take that noise and gas and turn it into something useful.”

Well, I’m done typing the words straight from my stomach.  My head and heart are itching to get back to this thing what I call a blog.

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You know when you’re at a store, standing in line at the register, and realize you’re humming and tapping your foot?  And you don’t mind?

My Dunn Brothers here at work did that to me while I was waiting for my coffee, and I like the song.  Brings back some memories.  I may just have to buy it from iTunes…

Lyrics, so I may sing it correctly:

“Sway”
Micheal Bublé

When marimba rhythms start to play
Dance with me, make me sway
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more

Like a flower bending in the breeze
Bend with me, sway with ease
When we dance you have a way with me
Stay with me, sway with me

Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have the magic technique
When we sway I go weak

I can hear the sounds of violins
Long before it begins
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now

Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have the magic technique
When we sway I go weak

I can hear the sounds of violins
Long before it begins
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now
You know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now

Skåll!!!

And I’m apartment searching.

I’m sick of the shit I have put up with for six goddamned years, believing I was at fault.  Believing I was the wrong one.  Believing I was to blame.

I’m so sick of it…

2008 is dead.  2009 better have some redeeming qualities to it, dammit.  Or someone will be beaten to a pulp.

Skåll (period, full-stop, end-of-sentence, end-of-conversation).

P.S.: Shit, it wasn’t the end of conversation…  I’m quitting smoking as well.  I re-did my budget and I really want that $45-$70 a paycheck back to spend on hookers and blow.  Or something.  Maybe just hookers.

There’s someone else out there who has it even worse.

I just found out a friend had an aneurysm, and her husband found her last night.

She’s at the hospital now, and as far as I was told she is okay.  No definition to what okay means yet, but I shall keep my hopes up.

For any of my readers who know Jim & Cindy, keep a hopeful thought out for them.  And if you can, call Jim and offer your support.  He’s in for a rough ride for the next month, and then a difficult time for the next couple years — believe me, I know.

Skåll!!!

I’m stuck.  Every time I sit down to create something, draw something, or work on something even the slightest bit artsy, it’s like a plug gets pulled in the mental bathtub and all them ideas just swirl on down the drain.  The focus just ain’t there.

It’s gotten to the point where I can almost hear that metaphorical plug being pulled.  It sounds like my ears popping.

And all that’s left is a scratchy, unpleasant chill, and a lump.  And several blue words.

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