Hate to be that guy...
But Dio told us this would happen.

And I want to interrupt these insane political rants and say like, "Dude, you're an uneducated truck driver. Why don't you leave the hard thinking to more qualified people?" But then realize that I'm a pot, and they're a kettle.

But I'm like, "But no, like, I'm a smarter version of the thing we both are... because..... ummmm. Because I know stuff, and things. So shutup."

I have to listen to the CB in my truck all day. Its how we get info about whats going on. Doing paving, I only talk to 3 or 4 people a day, for long long periods of time.

And when someone on the radio starts the conversation with "I dont have a racist bone in my body..." just buckle your seatbelt, because its going to be a wild ride.

Stupid dumb work gets in the way of writing.

I was in military intelligence about 20 years ago when I was in the army, and then after as a government contractor.

I had a very high clearance, just about as high as you could go, and the rigorous background checks and qualifications I needed to obtain that security clearance was extensive. I had to be squeaky clean and beyond trustworthy.

I have been proud of this detail of my life... until goverment secrets were traded for minecraft discord community street cred.

Tomorrow I go in to work for a drivers meeting. The paving season begins.

I dont know. I mean, its nice to have money, but its just sooooooo much. It takes and it takes and it takes.

I'm mourning the end of the off season.

Something has been bothering me, and I don't know if this is something that we as a society have thought about...

There was a point that we all just collectively decided to wear blue pants.

It doesn't matter if you look good in blue, or if you even like the color at all, you might hate the color blue for all I know. But I can say with absolute certainty that I know you have worn blue pants, and you never thought it was weird.

ITS WEIRD!!! ITS FUCKING WEIRD!!!

when I think of the firearms I do own, they remind me of a time when it was how I bonded with my father, it was my sense of belonging. Now I don't speak to him due to many complicated reasons, and they only serve as a reminder of that.

Last week I considered selling them all, to alleviate myself of that dreaded "nostalgic value" that has kept them kicking around in my life over the decades. Trading them all for just one home defense weapon blah blah blah.

This is my poorly thought out rant.

I have a hard time discussing the 2nd amendment. I used to defend it, believe in it, and in many ways still do, but it's becoming increasingly difficult when firearms are in the hands of the least intelligent, least disciplined, least mentally well, least responsible people.

While I dream of how cool it would be to add "name firearm here" to my collection, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth of who I am associating with by doing that. Gross times we live in.

I'm looking to join a new woke mob. Looking for a mob that values tolerance and equality. The last mob I was in demanded that rich people didn't assault their workers, so I'm pretty hardcore.

This winter I wrote about 30k words. I'm just enjoying the process, and I think thats a great place to be.

#writingcommunity

@Alfred tell me a story about a duck named Jim.

@Alfred why did my dad leave?

THIS is what happens when a side character talks to a side character who creates another character in passing and that character becomes a main character.

Sometimes I wonder if writing activates some amount of schizophrenia.

This storyline is a side characters storyline. Just something I threw together to help give deeper understanding of my main story. And this moment is a b story in said side characters side story. THEN a side character in the side characters b story merely mentions the existence of another character.

That character has become the most compelling part of my book now.

I am not in control

#WritingCommunity #writersofcoso

I guess my reverse seasonal depression is kicking in. I will be going back to work in a few weeks, and its a weird thing to hate that the weather is getting nicer, but this is a sign that soon I will be cooking in a truck 14 hours a day breathing diesel smoke and dealing with shitty attitudes.

Cant I just grow mushrooms and write books instead? If I kick my feet and cry, will it all just go away?

I should clarify that "fuck it" should be interpreted with a melancholy tone, not an enthusiastic, or salacious tone. Apologize for any confusion.

I'm in a place where I don't have anything to say anymore. Maybe I'm tired, or depressed. I want to communicate, but am met with a deep feeling of "fuck it"

Only 2 weeks before I hang up my writer cap and go back to pouring asphault on ground until I get heat stroke. So fun.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but daylight savings time fucking blows.