blogging on, these are the days of mundane and continual curmugeonry
Previously at the supper club: Tomorrow, give it to me hard. I’ll want it rough tomorrow. But not today. The day after, I’ll need a barrel of laughs. But not today.
***
These days have passed several times over. I haven’t done much in the last month. Fiddled with my new old camera. Said on instagram I’d post a picture a day for the next year because I’m in a use-it-or-lose-it mindset as of late. That lasted less than a week, so it would appear that the platform has run its course and must go now.
But rings of coffee remain under my mug after every pour. Some things don’t change.
Jenn said she heard Don and his wife in a heated argument the other day. The only thing she could make out, though, was something to the extent of “I know about your little friend.” Whoa, whoa, whoa. We already know that Don has a girlfriend - the mini cooper girlfriend. She parks right next to the wife, so she must be talking about someone else. The audacity! I really wish I knew their arrangement because the next day I opened the front door to love on one of the apartment complex cats who was sleeping on the mulch by our bush and as soon as I knelt down to pet him I heard Don’s door open and guess who came walking out? THE WIFE. She locked his door behind her and scuffed her way back to her apartment next door in her slippers and a hair bonnet.
I’m still debating on adding family to this substack. I only want to deal with one, but if that happens, several of my posts must be shoved away in the archive or hidden somehow or just unpublished probably. I’m tired of telling my mom “no, I haven’t written anything in over a year” when I really want to tell her “oh, I write somewhere else but you wouldn’t like it because I share too much and there’s some gay stuff and you wouldn’t enjoy reading it” but then she’d persist and tell me she wants to read everything I write no matter what because she’s my biggest supporter but I know there’d be slight disappointment and she’d be crying anyway because I kept this all from her to begin with. I hate lying to her and the guilt is eating away at me. But then I have to watch what I say here and that’s no fun. But who am I kidding - guilt will win in the end. Does anyone know if there’s a way to send these emails to specific people? I could just send certain ones to family and the rest to the humbug family and have it all be done from the same address. Something to look into, I guess.
Don’s wife just put laundry in her car, picked a wedgie, and drove away. I can safely assume his clothes are in the mix as I’ve watched her get them from his apartment numerous times. Part the deal they have, I guess.
Blogging on, these are the days of mundane and continual curmugeonry. Daily life carries on. Going to visit my grandparents next month. I’m stoked. My plan is to interview them, finally, but I’ve yet to ask permission and if they’d even be up for it. tbd.
_\m/
i love this
no better way to return than with a don update