Location: three hours ago, leaving office
Music: got this crazy dream of stripping down to truth and bone
All the static electricity in my building somehow accumulates in my room. That’s cause about once an hour I’ll touch something in my room and a huge spark’ll jump from me to that thing.
My roommates must think it’s strange that I randomly scream out, “Dammit!” by the hour, on the hour from my room.
Speaking of roommates, might have a vacancy. I live in a 1,700 SF duplex and the room is a 500 SF room with private whirlpool bath, separate shower equipped with all the fixings and the best high pressure shower head and three six-foot closets. Email, please.
Speaking of static, got some from a friend over his buddy. Basically, buddy’s a jerk and my friend admits he’s a tool. In fact, the only good thing that can be said about him is that he’s entertaining. Like a clown. And that they’ve known each other for X amount of years.
I get both reasons – but it’s a poor excuse for poor character. Who’s got the time?
As a kid, heard that Nixon was playing golf with Nicklaus one day and missed a swing. So Nixon looks around and says something like, It’s just us, that didn’t count, yeah? Nicklaus thought it was weird but was like, Whatever. Years later, Nicklaus was watching TV when Watergate happened, and he said that he knew it was Nixon. He knew it. Cause he saw what Nixon’s character was.
(If you read me, you know I hate saying facts unless I can back it up, so the closest I could find to this story was this).
And that’s the thing. My buddy doesn’t see it. But I see it. People’s true character comes out in the little things. It’s how I knew my ex was cheating on me.
Got extra weight? Work out. Got no dough? Knuckle up and make some scratch. Got poor character? Oooooh…dude, sorry. There’s no cure for straight-up tool.
For serious; more than anything, feel pity for him. Cause there’s no cure for poor character and the Devil and I know this: y’can’t hide who you really are.
For better or for worse, we both know that we can’t help being the sum of our possible pasts. Which, is unfortunate, cause I’d like to leave a lot more of me behind me.