I just managed to pre-wake my medicinal alarm by 2 minutes, having taken what turned out to be a nice little 2.5-3hour cruise/nap which I had started upon because, I was for lack of a better word beat. So the first thing of interest to cover (at least to me, if no one else,) is: that I seem to have calibrated my internal clock for the medicine interval every 12 hours and in this case beat the alarm by 5 minutes or so without awareness. This has happened in the past when I would get dialed into a new change in schedule and routinely beat the alarm clock (if I had one at the time) out of bed to make it to work on time which was helpful when I was working at a bakery as a young lad and would switch from two 10:00pm-6:00am shifts to four 6:00am to 2:00pm shifts every week or three of each as necessary to fill bread or pastry making roles. Anyway it is a handy thing, especially for someone of a mind to throw an alarm clock within reach, prior to fully waking, through the nearest pane of glass. So in this “looking at the bright side of life” world I am currently forced to inhabit, we have that! YeaeeeeeeHaaaaaaa!!!!!

So anyway to cut the freaking jib, and get this floe a-port, I awake from a nice chunk of late afternoon/early evening rest in time to beat the alarm and get my meds put upon or into my body.

“Cool!” I think as I slide out of bed searching for my pill box (7 day/7 night compartment deal thingy, we should start a club, but of course it would be filled with old farts including quite possible an oppressive number of persons who proudly voted for Nixon/Reagan/and Trump, (with a Perot/Romney thrown in for good measure) which I can not find immediately, but whose search brings me downstairs where I find that my hosts are watching some kind of Encomium/Overhanded, double-fisted/Power-wank/Bullshit/Retrospective of Tom Fucking Brokaw. Interviews with the current old man talking about his importance entwined with lots of footage of the younger man engaged in the heroic act of news-talking on the TV about the tumultuous and amazing times that happened mostly during my life, and for which I was a first hand witness. I also was fondly forced to remember at least a couple of occasions when not having a tv with one of those fancy remotes, I may have taken serious dead aim with a stout rubber band to hit the off switch on the TV to shut the fucker up before he was able to get his morning wrecking yak on, if the rubber band was lacking, I may have also employed a bb gun to similar effect. Dead aim is a thing, but I digress.

My God, what a pompous fucking twit!

I mean the dude was a light weight pretty boy Texan prop for Jane Pauley, but goddammit, he was there (for important things), In the Studio (for important things), sharing with us and being there for us (for these important things) and calming us/holding our hand/navigating through difficult circumstance/(during these important moments we shared collectively as a nation, unified in togetherness, cemented in unifaction, by his helping, active, and calming action.)

Watching him watch himself do that thing that he did made me wish that he might have stumbled into a gang of angry punks looking for a mark to beat, or to take the place of that nazi punk in the cartoon below.

While I am happy (I guess) that I get to have these “Get the fuck off of my lawn, you fucking tosser, piker sot” moments, and by extension continue to breathe and therefor write, I am too young to have them at the very same time.

Now that I have excised that shit-gibbon from my short term memory gob, I should be able to get back to sleep. Until next time. Beast!*