Small Unimportant Things

I never check to see how many visitors I get or from where. I judge traffic by commentary. Years ago I 'd look at the stats and the source links and try to guess who came through, but then, also years ago, I decided I can't be arsed.

This morning I woke to the backup beep beep and launched myself down the stairs but was too late to put the garbage out. I don't forget often, but last night I went to bed early and fell off any semblance of routine. We're going to look pretty trashy by Sunday.

Listening to old music, I gotta wonder: How come all of Morrissey's singing with the Smiths seems to have just three notes?

Listening to old music, I gotta wonder: Where the hell was I back then? Listening to crappy hard rock and shying away from all social contact, that's where.

A friend recently asked, apropos of nothing, for a happy childhood memory. Kind of a conversation starter. I drew a blank. Childhood makes me sad. I had to work at it and dredge up some happily acquisitive instant from Christmas.

Life is about self-discovery through connections with other people. I wish I had an inkling of that way back when. I'm still trying to fight off my inner misanthrope and look at it that way now. I often succeed. I really like people but I'm an only mildly extroverted introvert.

For Throwback Thursday, I FB-posted a picture of me being read to by my great-grandfather, but as soon as I looked at it I realized it might not be me, but my brother Jimmy, who died young. So I took it down. It's a sweet picture in any case.

Al Paulsen, b. 1875, d. 1969