23 more-or-less continuous days of avoiding Facebook, trying to learn something by day 40.

I test each thing I do against the rubric of “Is this getting you where you want to be?” An internal voice replies, “I am sure I don’t know, but are you enjoying where you are, now? Are you present in the moment?”

“Mariska Hargitay!”

That’s my “guru conscience.” He’s right, to a degree, and I hate when that sanctimonious little hippie peacenik is right.  When every present moment is measured against what it is not, instead if being appreciated for what it is, my poverty deepens.

But when I wallow in the moment and don’t try to drag my belongings up out of the flood, to dry ground, all I see is more shit getting wet.  More mold starting to grow. You can’t “intention” yourself out of a mess.  You’ve got to formulate a plot, end up in jail or shot….wait…my “Eminem Conscience” wants its say.

Feet fail me not…

If there is deep, cosmic meaning behind “Eight Mile” and “Lose Yourself” it is that you’d better have your eye on a goal, and be prepping for the moment when you’ll get that one shot, one opportunity, to make it real.

And so we lift weights, diet, read training books, go to school, engage in various “practices” to enshrine discipline and focus, so that when that moment we think we are trying to get to arrives, we are ready.

”So here I go it’s my shot…”

A Dog’s Life

Our family pup is apparently running out of runway.  Iook her to the vet today, and the Doc and Receptionist both said, “Whoa…she’s 13 and a half?  Doodles don’t get that old.”  It’s like they’re saying, “Dog! You should be dead!” But in a nice way.

I hope I live long enough that doctors say, “Holy shit.  You’re still here?”