spot

I have been binge reading books for the past couple of days (weeks? months? years? lifetimes?) and it has been 69% awesome, but 31% disappointing. It meaning the books. The experience of reading is always pretty rad, especially if that experience includes blanket forts and snacks. I think I need to start picking better books? But I DO pick "good" books, probably even pretentious books at times, yet sometimes they just don't hit the spot. I guess that's the chance you take when you read.

Zzzzzzzzzzz. That was a boring paragraph. My apologies. All apologies. Nirvana. Most of you know what I'm talking about. (And if you don't, it's okay, you just didn't grow up in the '90s. The 1990s. If you grew up in the 1890s then holy shit! A ghost is reading my blog!!!)

My knuckles just popped very successfully and I couldn't be more pleased. Other things I find satisfying: bagging my own groceries, chewing on slightly melted ice, rubbing the space right above my butt (uh, I think that's called a lower back???), addition and sometimes subtraction (occasionally it gets TTTBS) (Too Tricky To Be Satisfying), putting away dishes and silverware, unclogging things unless they are disgusting.

More like Pokemon NO.

I am in a weird spot. I think my whole life has been a weird spot. I am a dot in a weird spot THANKS A LOT OBAMA. Weird doesn't necessarily mean bad. I am just in this well-gee-fuckin-whiz-what-should-I-do-with-my-life space. Spaces and spots. And decisions. I should probably decide fairly soon what it is I want to pursue. It's the same old same old -- do I go organic farming for a few months and somehow break into the farming business? Should I work seasonally at some national park and somehow break into the national park business (by dressing up as Smoky the Bear and telling inappropriate ghost stories to campers)? Get a TESOL certificate and teach English abroad and somehow break into another country and become their president within a matter of months? Or maybe I'll just go back to school and become, I dunno, a crime scene investigator.

Or a blogger. I can always become a blogger and get paid for writing run-on sentences and fragmented thoughts and posting one too many cat photos stolen off of other sites. Borrowed. Borrowed off of other sites.

I'm going to slather on some SPF 30 and take a walk outside where the Pokemon Go zombies lurk and try to figure out what it is that I, the littlest dot, wants to do on this weird spot that is planet earth.