Photo by Zbysiu Rodak on Unsplash

Summer’s almost over. You know what that means. Panic. Petty self-interest. General disgust with the human race. Everything you do pisses me off.

OT: Why does this guy always post political shit on Facebook, then grow outraged that some people take the political shit too far? Duh!

We’re trying to schedule a last-gasp family summer vacation. Well, technically, it’s a weekend road trip, because a) we don’t have time for a real vacation, b) we don’t really enjoy taking off for that long, and c) we are co-dependents living for other people’s itineraries and agendas.

Right now, the Pacific Northwest is experiencing a heat wave and air pollution from the fires up North. Air quality is very low; the susceptible segment of the population (like my two asthmatic family members) must take special precautions to stay inside.

Earlier, I went to my last doctor’s appointment of the summer of 2017. A dermatologist’s PA, to be specific. Megan was super-friendly, super-informative, and super-reassuring about my benign lesions/moles, even the pesky one that scabs over then re-scabs, the one I’ve had for years. We’ve scheduled a six-month check, to continue until the day I die. It’s a good idea at my age (50s), even with my Pacific-Asian complexion.

With the poor air quality in mind — how could I forget?? — I also went to the supermarket to pick up some quick meal fixes for my family. I’m not sure if I’ll brave the haze later tonight for my neighborhood walk, maybe the treadmill.

Driving these long distances bothers me. I hate driving, I hate cars, period. I wish I lived back in Hawaii when I walked everywhere I needed to go. I wish we all lived that way.

But I’m on this runway headed for nowhere fast, so I have to make-do as best as I can.

In the meantime, I’m also trying my hardest not to feel envious of people going on their own month-long summer vacations, of their ability to just hop in the car and take off for parts unknown when the going gets tough. I’m stuck here, for better or worse, like that Eagles song, “Sunset Grill,” you know?

This place used to be naturally beautiful, like Hawaii once was growing up in the 1970s — before we tortured it to death with our ideas of growth. We’re killing this planet, because we refuse to change our plans, we refuse to care about anything other than our next fix.

Gotta make the next gig. We booked it months in advance. Money, money, survival, money, money, money.

Four more weeks, then the cycle starts all over again.

You know that social media quote making the rounds, “In the end, you only remember the people you loved and the memories you made,” or some bullshit like that?

People don’t give a fuck about the feel-good pep talk until it’s too late, and then it’s too late. I’m glad they’re lying in a puddle of their own piss, shit, and vomit feeling like piss, shit, and vomit, because they neglected their families and their friends to make a living.

Let’s see if your wonderful co-workers and band mates are there for you when the hospice nurse is wiping your ass… How much you wanna bet?

That’s what they get.

If you don’t change your nature now, after reading that quote and hearing the elderly stories, then you deserve a deathbed full of regret.

In the end, it’s true… You’re not fondly reminiscing about the gigs you’ve taken over time with your family, or the family obligations with family you don’t even like over your so-called friends, or the work schedule you insist on maintaining over a chance at love, time spent just breathing in the world before the world goes to hell.

You’re a rat in a wheel until they zap you dead.

Told you I get bitter.



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