Macaroni Murder Lady: Stream of Consciousness – Gary Young MySpace Blog

Man, my computer is dying, big time. For a while it was doing fine but now … it’s almost over. It’s a good excuse to buy a new one, though. It’s not a big deal except for the whole software thing. Have to get all of my programs on the new computer when I do get it.

I’ve been playing too much tennis lately. Playing too long is probably more accurate. I was having dinner with Kamlesh after the game, cutting a piece of chicken with a fork and my forearm cramped up. Has this ever happened to you? My third and fourth fingers curled up like a claw. Had to pry them open with my other hand. Odd sensation. Not painful, but odd.

I have the gig with Rustic this weekend. It’s at Champion Billiards in Frederick on Saturday night so if you’re going to be in the area, stop on by. I’ve really got to practice and review the song list. Come to think of it, I should be doing that instead of this right now. So much to do and so little time.

I’m going on vacation in a few weeks. It should be fun but I’m not looking forward to being a ninth wheel. That should prove to be interesting. Maybe I could hire an escort. Anyone want to give me a few thousand dollars so I can get a high class escort for a week of vacation? Anyone? No? Me neither. Of course, if I had that money I’d buy an iPod and I’d get my car stereo upgraded to something that’s mp3 player friendly.

I can’t think of anything else. I have thoughts every day that I could write about. I’m not saying you’d want to read them but they’d make for good literary interpretation. Then I forget them. It’s like trying to remember your dreams from the night before. Like this:

Monday morning I was driving to work via Mt. Vernon and the George Washington Parkway. A big, pretty, yellow butterfly fluttered by my windshield. I heard a tiny “ding” kind of sound. I leaned forward and looked out of the front windshield and saw the now deceased butterfly waving like a black and yellow flag stuck on my antenna. What are the odds. I felt so bad. Then it blew away and I thought to myself, “If there are omens and portents, this has got to be a bad one.”

See. It’s not particularly meaningful but just a slice of thought. But when I think about it this is what we’re made of. Our existence is mainly these little slices of experience that we don’t share with anyone and eventually don’t remember. I think I just like stories.

I was going to write about some horrible abuses of women in the Mideast. Girls and young women being pressured by male relatives to kill themselves for having relationships with … well, does it really matter why? The message is, are you an independent, strong, free-willed woman? Then please die. We can’t handle you.

Madness. And not the good “our house in the middle of our street” or “welcome to the house of fun” kind of Madness.

That was another thought I had recently.

I keep waking up at odd hours of the night. Usually between 3 and 4am. I have no idea why. The first few times I had trouble getting back to sleep for hours. Then a few days later I’d wake up three or four times a night. Now I wake up briefly and fall back asleep. Maybe it’s after dreams. Maybe it’s because I’ve jammed about twenty rock songs in my head. I’d wake up with a song jingling around in there. Hopefully, I can start getting some solid sleep in again. That sleep disruption was starting to add up. Anyone else ever have this happen? Any suggestions?

I think I’m done with thinking for tonight. I’m tired. The futon calls. Maybe it’s because I sleep on a futon.

Good night, America.

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