oh really... you've come here to find out what kind of fool I am?... no, what is on second... ok, before someone yells Hey Abbott! I'll try to be a little more serious since this entry will probably be linked to the attempt at seriously explaining something about communication for it relates somewhat directly to the subject, whatever it or it may be... ya falla?...

if the references don't distract you, you aren't getting them and probably wonder why I am distracted... it's the references... there, now you know...

but we were getting to some point here about what kind of fool I am, specifically in regard to communication, I think... first, though, I just woke up a few brain cells that were holding on to some unfinished business that demonstrates rather effectively some of the foolishness that goes into being me...

I'll take the library for 139.12, Alex...

and chips, an assortment of chips...

whatever does it mean, you ponder... or you might be pondering... well, I would love some next generation computer chips in a way too advanced to ever use it's full potential (no less learn to master it completely) computer, but I was referring to three containers of Lay's chips which resemble Pringles, except they are made by Lay's and have flavors... these are the distractions I wander up to the bush with (before getting to the beating around it part of this ramble)...

here's a question for you... are all of the companions on Earth: Final Conflict female actors playing beings that resemble gay human males in their movements (and we won't get into their philosophies at the moment) or is that just coincidence?...

how could there not be aliens among us?...

the chips are barbecue, cheddar, and sour cream & onion, three of my favorites... I should go to bed so I can wake and get back to the gym tonight, but I have a meeting at 2PM so sleep will be interrupted, which would make it even wiser for me to have gone straight to bed when I got home, but here I sit... munching on chops... attempting to communicate something about why I am attempting to communicate something about how I communicate and most often of late do not communicate as I believe I would like to communicate and why... why?... there's the rub... and one of these days I might remember...

for a moment there I thought I might, but there was that library comment... I owe the library $139.12, at least... I apparently took out lots of stuff from the library once upon a time... up until last year, I was a regular patron of the libraric arts, taking out dozens of books and recordings a month and usually paying a sawbuck or few each month in late fees... that loved me, patron that I was... and suddenly I stopped visiting the library for some reason...

the reason was a changing of the co-workers at work... I don't recall the exact timing of the changes, but there was a period of heavy reading, then a period of playing cards and other games (the darts tournaments were fun), then more heavy reading, and then sometime last year the tables turned and a fun group of game players came aboard and reading at work stopped again... I probably should have continued reading as the tables that turned turned on me, but that's another story for high school confidential that I'm bored with so we'll pass on it for now and if I remember what I was talking about when you ask about it I'll relate the soap operetta as well as I can... anyway, I stopped reading... I stopped visiting the library... I went to a wedding in Chattanooga and forgot to return the stuff... I returned some of it, but I still have a book (Time Enough For Love, Robert Heinlein), a book on cassette (The Gunslinger, Stephen King), and apparently a CD (Come Away With Me,, Norah Jones)... I did not realize I still had the CD, as if it would have made a difference...

so fool that I am as in financially irresponsible (not to mention shirking my civic duty to keep valuable classics in circulation in the public library system), I found myself gawking at my account on the library website just a little while ago... but that is not what kind of fool I am that I was referring to in the earlier references to what kind of fool I am...

you're still reading?...

I looked at my cellphone today... it's new, shiny, silver, fun... I looked at the numbers I put in memory... wishing there were more, some very old wishes, some unknown... and there was the memory entry labelled Voicemail... so I pushed the button and somehow remembered the way into my voicemail... I know I have not been there for a while... June 15th, 2003... what kind of fool am I?...

there were five saved messages... that means they were from even further back, a couple from 2002... at least one from 2001... maybe earlier... no wonder I stayed awake and reached for chips... and now I am considering chocolate... or pasta... comfort foods... alas, no ice cream or chocolate milk to choose from...

there's a message from EA Sports wanting to set up an interview for a game tester position... yes, a job playing video games... this fool (that would be me) did not set up the interview... but I did keep the number...

there's a message from the writer's club of Orlando asking me to check it out and this fool cries in the night about longing for creative interaction, people who love words, and someone who might understand the addiction to writing...

there's a message from someone affiliated with something called alive after five which sounds like some sort of singles event and I am offered VIP passes for my group (the online groups I used to moderate attract some interesting possibilities, but this fool just saved this message too and let time pass)...

then there were two more personal messages, one from a couple interested in social fun, movies, games, dinner, and the caller sounded like fun and the other from a girl writer seeking a roommate who said reading me was like reading herself in terms of interests, dreams, and intangibles... and this fool just saved the messages and move on in my state of relative emotional stupor through the mundanity (functional insanity of nothingness) of daily rountines...

and then the phone went dead, the new phone reached the dead zone for the first time, the battery ran out of juice right there... and so I plugged the phone in for a charge and came here to continue this dairy which is part of my throbbing literary world that aches for more sharing and professes one undying all-permeating wish, to find more social interaction, fun, and intimacy with people and most especially someone, the one, who can relate to me and my madness and my interests and creativity and honesty and curiosity and innocence and so on and so forth and scooby dooby do dah day o, dayayayay o... damn daylight...

you must remember this...

oh really?... well, maybe... or something like that... we'll leave the getting into the why (whys and wherefores?) for another time... oh, that sweet other time, will I live to finally see it coming... but tell me, if you slide with friends and never get home, aren't you always home if you slide with friends?... come on, somebody's got to get them all... any?... anyone?... ah, but daft is I and daft is me and daft may be a better place to be... has anybody been to daft?... or seen it?... cue song (five foot two, eyes of blue?... oh, hazel or brown will do... can anybody love this fool... or even understand)... yes, I may even write love songs for the easily amused...

amused, are we?...

so what now, to sleep, perchance to dream?... yeah, right, I'm going for the chocolate... less than four hours to go to the meeting... maybe some pasta... cheese... and a coke?... ok, maybe I'll find an ounce of sense and have some green tea...

good morning...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)