Awaiting the delivery...

It's a late saturday night with feet kicked up and a few simple beverages down, perhaps a few more to go. A certain balance regained with the righting in the bloodline... a terribly debaucherous friday night behind me. With the morning mused light i watched my housemate drain every drop of vitamin c from the house with two close-rounded trips to the fridge to wrap his lips around the aseptic orange juice jug. Poor bastard, poor me i was thinking. And then thinking of Bill Cosby and that beautiful skit on the plight of humanity, our desire to make something of friday night and get out there, get loose and soused and have a good time. Then the subsequent over-indulgence, queasy feelings and an end to 'fun,' we rest our heads against the cool rim of the toiletseat. And the realization in sapped confusion that we earned this, our nine to five, weekday run for the money has bought in time, effort, cool change, the ability to invest ourselves in such stupid endeavors.

That's what i was thinking with the morning light and a coming day of something bordering on regret, what the hell was all that for? Questions like, did the fun i have equal or better the consequence of consumption, my body's rejection to a gross amount of stimulant and depressant? And then two answers to one question; i saw it coming...

I live in a new town. Its been here all along, something in my eyes as the newcomer, this idea of rewound chronology and genesis. This quasi-acuity belongs to subjection, a thing i've been guilty of in more than one instance. I admit it yet it nearly seems healthy... progressive, as if perhaps i was bordering on truth: the truth that all situations no matter how misleading are results of my own projection and spin. The longer i live and the more absurd the situations become, the more difficulty i have in believing the external sentience of circumstance. Outcomes always tend toward the appropriate. Perhaps that gives some standing to our new-age friends and jungian vouchers of coincidence and proper cause and effect. I never could find merit in the argument though the supposition rang true. Perhaps this is my way of dealing with constant travel and a high turnover rate of employment and company. Maybe i'm mission minded and need to inject this experience called life with the false notion of engaging in a sociological experiment. Yeah right... ain't it good though.

In the latest chapter of possible demise, perchance nirvana... i have acquired a beautiful six-three jobbyjob driving truck for a distribution company. I sling soda and bread and other partially hydrogenated products to the community of Sitka grocery stores and shortchange convenience stores. It pays and has something to teach, though i'm still not positive as to which avenue that may lead.

And so my weekend come and awaiting the delivery of some chinese food made by a kitchen of polynesians who call the great gray north their home. Its rained nearly three weeks straight. If it weren't raining the population would deem it a 'nice' day regardless of any other conditions. We're getting out the chopsticks and pouring another drink...