Deciphering The Plan

It has become obvious to me that the CEO of the United States is employing his historic business plan--don't pay your employees, file bankruptcy, then go to Russia to get another huge loan.  

Duh.  

But his legion is still defending him.  They can't admit they committed a catastrophic mistake when they put the checkmark by his name.  Their jaws just get tighter and their message meaner.  Meanwhile, the dems are running around like clowns with their hair on fire.  

If you thought Wonderland was weird. . . . 

But I am home, and that is where the heart is.  Mine is too big and fragile, perhaps, but, as the old saying goes, it is better to have loved and lost than to never have lost before.  

That's not quite right.  

It is a romantic place, my house, full of witchy things, potions, books, art, and alchemy, and maybe that is why I find it so difficult to leave it on a sunny day.  It is not like the world "out there."  It is a ramshackle love nest for one.  

O.K.  That sounds too onanistic.  It's just words, really, a turn of a phrase.  I do live too much in my head, I guess.  It is probably a common malady.  Many must have it.  

But when I pour gas on the fire, or in this case, a little hooch. . . the flames grow high and I begin to. . . communicate.  I've forgotten the nighttime rule.  No texting after five.  

After a day of leisure and a trip to my mother's, after a cocktail and a cheroot on the deck in the lovely later afternoon/early evening air, after dinner and drinks, if the music is right, my heart clouds my head.

"Oh, please. . . ."

"Shut up and sit back. . . I'm driving now!"

And then new versions of an old idea begin to form, and I think I want to share.  

"What was that!"

"Oops.  It's o.k.  I just ran over a curb.  Shut the fuck up." 

"For God's sake. . . please slow down."

Solipsism might be a better descriptive term for it.  Yea.  Let's call it that.  

So. . . I was listening to this.  She was part of the whole Joan Chamorro Jazz Band thing.  All grown up now and on her own.  A Tiny Desk Concert is a big deal, I think.  You can listen to this with your morning coffee or wait until tonight while you are having a glass of wine.  Either way.  

I am having lunch with my old secretary this afternoon.  The sky is grey and thunder rumbles in the distance.  I was just informed that I will be driving into a tornado warning.  See what happens?  Inevitably the shit will hit the fan.  It is obvious to me that I keep overplaying my hand, but you have to play the hand you are dealt, they say.  

That's probably a really dumb idea.