It’s More Than A Broken Dishwasher

This was going to be a post called Don’t You Regret About Me but I decided to go a different way.

Maybe it is because the doc said change your ways or bad things are going to happen.

“Gee doc, what sort of bad things?’

“Illnesses that make you more than uncomfortable before they kill you.”

“Well doc, you have a hell of a bedside manner.”

“Thanks. You’re right to be pleased about your workouts. At our age you’re lifting a hell of a lot of weight. That is great unless you hurt yourself. It is much easier to do than you think and it takes longer to recover. Lift less and eat less.”

“Dammit, I could have asked the Magic 8 Ball for that. Do you have anything more profound?”

“Drink more water, get more sleep and try not to sit in front of the computer all day.”


Perhaps it is more than a broken dishwasher on my mind. Maybe it is the words of the doc or maybe it is something else.

Singing With Willie & Julio

Got the headset on and the dog singing along with Willie, Julio and I. Maybe we’ll move onto a few more or maybe we’ll go a different direction.

“I am”… I cried
“I am”… said I
And I am lost and I can’t
Even say why
Leavin’ me lonely still

The dishwasher is operating in as our dear departed captain would say, the failure mode.

I can fix it. I am 98 percent certain I know what is wrong, already made it work again briefly but I am not going to do any more.

That is because I am Joe Renter these days and if anything more is wrong than I suspect I don’t want to be found liable to having caused the issue.

It is irritating not being able to dive into it and do more. Irritating to not be able to fix it.

Some days you are that one trick pony and some days you’re a Starman chasing after a space oddity.

You flip all the switches, turn up the dials to eleven or higher and ask Can you hear me Major Tom?

Space is a vacuum so of course there is nothing but silence. You know that when you are on the dark side of the moon radios don’t work, emails don’t send and there are no carrier pigeons, smoke signals or war drums to indicate recognition of anything.

The silence is deafening.

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