The Body as Vehicle of History, Part II

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The storm continues unabated.

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I spent a few hours on a surveillance job this week, tracking down someone. It always feels like I'm on TV when I'm doing stuff like that. 

I need a theme song. 

"Wacka-wacka-wacka-waa-waaah...."

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Gone all next week for Officer Involved Shooting Investigations school. Beautiful Santa Barbara.

Don't ask me what my wife thinks. 

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Look, I know I'm half fucked up. I do bad things. I do things badly. I don't do what I should. And I know that one 'oh shit' wipes out a hundred good deeds. Or a thousand. All of them that went before, at any rate.

But, still. 

I gotta eat some shit here, and I don't like it. I have some blame-shouldering to do. 

"But I was trying." I want to say.

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Like I would.

Like I would give anyone the satisfaction.

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I read something today, how we all feel like God's up there, judging. And he'd give us a break, he would, cause he knows we're doing our best. It's our neighbors who he's gonna assfuck. 

Those motherfuckers. They ain't no damn good.

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Right now I feel like I been dealt out. 

Sidelined, you call it. Benched. 

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I got all these emotions.

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My brother says in the Marines you get to have one emotion, one feeling. After that, you've used up your allotment. 

So, you don't waste it. 

You hoard that motherfucker.

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I know I'm being circumspect, and you'll just have to trust me on why and what all I'll say and what I won't. It's none of it important, it's just private. And it's not my privacy, it other folks. So.

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But I caint get aholt of what would steer it right. I'm all thumbs and two left feet. Blind in one eye and can't see out of the other one.

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One thing is that I'm getting to watch my own emotional weather system. High pressure system, low pressure system, building force out to sea, dissipating when it hits land. 

Stalling off the coast.   

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God damn I better shut up.

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