So, back to the title of this post. Historically, I think that I’ve always been able to retreat into a little “Toby” world to deal with stress. Sometimes that world was called retail therapy, but I’m not wanting that world any more. Too much stuff to move when I change addresses. SO, I’m trying to work out a new way to handle things. I used to write sometimes to deal with stress, but the lightning bolt inspiration method hasn’t worked since they chopped out a quarter of my brain in 2008. BUT I think that might be something I can work on - I have some inspriations to write about, and some ideas that were planted several years ago and documented somewhere. Hopefully I’ll find that documentation in my next move - out of Lowertown St. Paul.

well, post-brain surgery, when everyone is telling me that I’m doing so well on the path to recovery and all that - I’m sitting here, I’ve got the iPod and a fast computer and a television, etc. and what I really want to do sometimes is go outside and watch traffic. I counted 3 tan cars in one field of view yesterday and that was a highlight for me.

what’s more than that - this has been a highlight for me (though it requires technology to visit: Caring Bridge) simply because there is some interaction there. I’m sure there are some silver linings in what I’m going through - one is that I’m still alive. At the risk of a jinx, I might say that things have almost gone too well for something that involves me. I tend to get rockier roads than I feel I should. But I seem to make it fine mostly.

I’m just happy I still remember the things that I remember - which is just about everything. Including those things that I know about you that could get you in trouble.

Not quite 40 yet, but I know I’m going to see that birthday - just need to determine what the live music is going to be at my birthday party.

I can imagine where I was in stanzas of my own poetry, and in words of other people’s work. it’s 2am right now, not sleeping, thinking of places that I was. thinking of things that I said that I meant at the moment I said them, but didn’t mean 5 minutes later.

what’s worse, sometimes those things I said were because I somehow thought that that’s what I was supposed to say - maybe somewhere down the road I would be thankful for saying that one thing because it improved my life somehow. Here’s one that I’ve said 1,001 times: “No chance in Hell.”

Maybe I’ve grown into more of an optimist. It seems more like there’s always a chance - but then I wanted to save someone else from trying to love me, or save my pride when someone fired me from a job, but called to ask me back.

side story: when asked “do you want a merry-go-round life or a carousel?” my answer (then?) “I think they’d both make me sick.”

In my late teens I thought o O (roller coaster ride would be more fun)

Then I started dating and have wished for carousel since.

I guess I need to adapt more quickly - before more chances pass by.

I haven’t written that poem yet - maybe I should just on the off chance that I remember I wrote poems once, and need a moment to recall who I was.

When I was 17 I went to the art supply store and bought a big pad of newsprint and some chalk pastels with my friend Larry.  We went to the mall which had a big open space in the middle.  I laid down on the floor (in the middle of the mall) and started drawing these huge pastel drawings.  We were there for at least a couple hours.  Within 10 minutes we were completely surrounded by people 4 or 5 deep (which I didn’t notice at first.)  When I noticed, I started tearing drawings out of the book, rolling them up and handing them to people.  I did 15 or 20 drawings and gave them all away.  Then the rent-a-cops told us that we had to go because the second story balcony was starting to fill up with people too, and the stores called them and asked if they would remove us.  We packed up and left.  This whole fountain area was full of pastel dust.  I can barely remember what those drawings looked like (except one) and I wish I had it now.

I’ll stop the wandering and say, “same thing with poems, same thing with stories.”  I’ve always given that stuff away - freely.  Then I heard someone tell me my own story.  Not to sound too dippy - a whole bunch of bad “energy” showed up.  For the last couple years I’ve been trying to eliminate that darkness, and about 95% of the time it’s gone.   I hate when it comes back - it’s painful.

The point of all this is that now that I’m writing again, I’m going to put it all in a well - a box or something, for someone to find when I’m an old man - or when I’m dead or something.  Maybe I’ll put a note on the top - I’ve been known to do this - that says: “If you find this…  use it in whatever way you feel like.”  Maybe I’ll get some post-mortem karma.  There’s never enough of that for a guy that’s made the kind of mistakes I’ve made.

I sanded wood today ’cause I’m making myself a workbench.  thank god for dust collection.

it’s early - and I had HBO on in the background while working on a website - don’t do this late at night while watching HBO because you might end up with some soft porn playing gently in the background.  in my case, loudly.  *MUTE*  whoops!

night-night.

so… 2 of my favorite musicians died in the state in which I now live.

The other?  Stevie Ray Vaughn

so I’m pushing the parts bike, half put together, down main street - and some jerk comes out of the pharmacy (my guess, refilling his viagra) and says, “I suppose you get better gas mileage that way huh?”)  I couldn’t manage anything witty so I just thought “shut up.” and kept pushing.  This town is so small I bet 30% of it’s population knows someone just moved in to that old garage.  I better get some shades on the window or I might end up with a crowd if I weld something.

on the banjo front - since it was mentioned in comments - I’ve got the forward rolls down, but am having a time with the reverse rolls.  what this means to the general population is: If you can tap the theme from the lone ranger on a desk with your finger tips, try doing it backward.  Once you get that down, stop halfway through and change directions.  That’s banjo.  I feel a little like the banjo version of Zoolander.  It’s always been so, but won’t always be.  If it’s going to be a long winter, well then I have time don’t I?

One other thing, since I don’t post often anymore.  Someone at the Vintage Airstream Club has taken an idea a bunch of us had in the late 90’s and run with it.  in 1959 and 1960 Wally Byam (the inventor of the Airstream) took 41 trailers (and 41 couples) to Africa to go from Capetown to Cairo.  Only 29 trailers made the trip in the end due to breakdowns etc.  Sounds like they’re going to do it again, and I’m all in on this one.  I talked to my friend from Africa and asked him what language to learn (he said “bring a translator”) and if I would be robbed (he said “yes” without even thinking about it.)  But then he started teaching me North Sutu, said South Sutu was close, told me not to learn Afrikaans (which is his native language) and then said maybe I should learn Swahili.  I’ll just use the translator I think.  One trip to Africa may just be enough.  And hopefully we’ll have some Land Rovers running along side us with armed personel.

and that’s the news.

I could almost pee I’m so excited.