Not all the children are above average


I drank the good stuff too soon.



Yeah it all looks good. Till the Gods of Seattle chime in and say “She Sucks” Seems that I’m making mistakes that are unique to me. And they are different every time. 


Unlike writing as self expression. Where I can write, think, wait, rewrite, repeat, interoffice emails are written on the fly.  My emails are seen as haikus. Three sentences, and lots of mystery. All of which makes more work for Seattle Gods. They don’t like that. And who can blame them.


Here at home, I will never understand why I have to send a fucking email to the person I can talk to just by walking out the door. 


Back to the sales floor for you my missy! Time for a new pair of shoes. I have to wonder how much longer I can do this job. My knees are older than me and let me know it when it rains. Big time. 


And I think I’ve infected half the Anchorage bowl, counting money the last three days, I’ve come down with a cold. Or may be just allergies.  Half the store was sniffling today. But my neck feels really stiff. Not a good sign.


In a grim mood, listening to Leonard Cohen, The Cure and Nine Inch Nails. Any one remember ‘Your God is Dead.’ by Mussolini Headkick?  It’s time to post this story. “Grave Wax” I wrote it a year ago. 





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