tcr! diaries - podcast

I would guess there’s been 5-10 relationships I’ve had with people where I've written them off. And I’m not talking about small relationships either. These are like personal relationships that have lasted for years.

And I wrote these people off because I had hurt them or they had hurt me and then it just went back-and-forth like some fucked up game of spiteful volleyball.

Then usually there came a point where I’d had enough, where I was done with it. It didn’t matter if I would see them every day or not. The relationship was sour as far as I was concerned. Even if they tried to make it better I was like, “Fuck you and your goodwill. That bridge is burnt.”

Writing people off has just always been my go-to thing. People don’t change. They generally just keep being the assholes that they’ve always been.

So there’s somebody in my life now that I’d written off as well. Too many spiked volleyballs and I was tired of getting hit in the face with synthetic leather by some ass who needed to be right at all costs.

Deep down to my toes didn’t care anymore. And I’m sure it was obvious to him. I don’t want to come across as arrogant and say that he was all in the wrong but as far as I’m concerned he was. There’s some dysfunctional humans populating the planet. And plenty of them commit wrong over and over again.

Not long back Sara gave me the seeds of seeing him as a human, faults and all. But I wasn’t there yet. I was holding on to my hurt and frustration because I wasn’t done with it. We were still on opposite sides of the net and I hate sand in my sandals. We can’t force acceptance. It comes on its own. Generally after I’m finished processing and have washed my feet.

So in my interactions with him in the here-and-now I can see that he’s trying to be a better person, get beyond his own shortcomings, his own downfalls and the like. Being who I am, or who I can be, up until this point I was like “good for you” with all the mental sarcasm you can imagine. I’m suspicious by default, been burned^10 by the man holding flowers the day after he smacked you with a switch.

Minor tangent that plays a part in all of this: I’ve been keeping all of my email since 2002. I like history. I like nostalgia. And I’ve had some powerful, healing conversation over that medium.

For whatever reason yesterday I was reading an email Jimi sent me in 2012. It said something along the lines of his missing ingredient had been forgiveness. I’ve written about forgiveness before. It’s no secret that it’s powerful medicine for the sick, salted soul.

I can come across as all holy and spiritual…but make no mistake, I haven’t mastered anything. After learning how intolerant I can be I’m sure the monks would kick me out before nightfall.

Alexa, play Somewhat Damaged by NIN. Volume a billion.

Okay, so here’s the real story...

Yesterday, early evening the written-off guy left me a voicemail. I listened to it and immediately went into “I’m not taking time to even knowledge this” mode. Silent, bitter disgust in all its glory.

But then this morning what Jimi had wrote via email was still lingering in my thoughts. It struck a chord this time. Unlike it did back in 2012.

So earlier today, without putting too much thought into it because I think way too much, I sent my antagonist a follow up email. I answered his questions and even made a little joke. On the weekend. When I usually like my alone time to be all about me and my pursuits.

Grace has been gifted to me by the cosmos. Numerous times. I believe it’d be good for me to regift as well.

And now I feel good, feel spiritual, feel burdenless. Like the feeling when you carry six bags of groceries in from the car and finally set them down on the kitchen floor. What a relief not to be lugging all that around any more.

I feel hopeful, feel positive. I don’t feel like anything is missing. In the cosmic sense of things. I feel like I’m doing my part in the bigger picture. If I’m not doing my part then I ain’t shit.

And I hope he feels good, too, after reading my reply email. If people are making a legitimate effort, consistently, if I can see that they are honestly trying to leave their volleyball days behind then they deserve more than simply being held in contempt. Forever.

I can see him as human, faults and all, just as Sara had reminded me I ought to.

It’s easy to do the right thing when the sailing is smooth and the waters are calm. It’s much harder to live up to my spiritual potential when life’s complicated and messy.

It’s harder when you’ve always been at war with machine X.

But it is possible. If I’m willing. If I seek a spiritual path. If I’m open to walking one.

#advancedsoul #forgiveness #grace #diariespodcast

Wow! It’s scary how much our minds work alike! I’ve always considered myself a “runner”…from 3 marriages, family and friends who have “done me wrong”. You have stated it so much more eloquently than I, but basically the same emotion and consequence. I want you to know I am actually learning “stuff” from you and want to thank you! I enjoy how your quirky mind works! And it sounds like Sara is VERY good for you! ♥️

I’m glad that my words are helping you in your journeys. I think that’s a big part of why we’re here. Not on Facebook, but in the bigger sense. And yep, Sara makes me a better person. :)

That’s cool you embrace that Travis! Our partners and other frienship relationships should bring out the best version of ourselves. I hope and pray that when the cosmos align 😊, I will find that relationship too.

You wil! The cosmos is just picking out the right relationship for you.

Thank you so much for that Travis! You’re writings, pieces are wonderful. Writing has served a great purpose in my life as well. Thank you again! My best to Sarah! !

You are most welcome!

The great game of volleyball has been besmirched.

Haha! I hated volleyball when they forced me to play it in high school so I guess it’s a good metaphor for me. 😊

I really needed to hear/read this today. People dont change most likey will just keep on being the assholes that they are.

I need to hear it often as well 😉

I’ve kept most correspsondence since before that. I also read old emails for inspiration and refresher courses.

For sure!

Email (besides work) has always been more about personal correspondence akin to the letters I used to write to my peeps in the 80s and 90s. Believe it or not, letters from SGC in Wichita were one of the highlights of going to visit my dad (PGC) after my parents divorced.

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I can only feel hurt and blame someone else for so long.

And after that time is over I have to either say something or let it go. I don’t have the right to hold onto my hurt for years if I’m not gonna do anything about it. Not doing anything other than hurting, well, it’s not fair to the other person and it’s definitely not fair to me.

Living with that hurt keeps me from being the best me that I can be. That hurt stands in the way of all of my relationships.

There’s a lot to be said for saying something out loud. When things are up in my head I can’t make sense of them. My thoughts are like a whirlpool or tornado. Or both. They’re just going around and around and they don’t make any sense. My emotions are all muddy and I can’t get the clarity to know up from down.

I don’t sit with things very long in the here-and-now because I’ve learned that life lesson. That I’m only going to be hurting myself and most likely innocent bystanders by not speaking up.

Also, I never write something in hopes that someone else will read it. That misses the point of everything I just wrote.

Just go talk to him →

#protip #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

You are a deep thinker. You think about things that I don’t even think to think about!

And it’s never my idea to think of them.

I wish you only peace and happiness you have a great family and what seems like a great life look to the future and try not to dwell on the past I know it’s hard but you can do this if you ever need to talk contact me on messenger for my phone number!

Thank you!! This was actually something I wrote 2-3 months ago but didn’t feel like posting it at the time! But that you, you’ve always been a good guy, a good friend.

Oh my! I really just need to say “ditto and thanks, Travis- I really needed to read and ponder your words!”

Thank you! And happy Friday!

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Not long after my ex-wife moved out I couldn’t stand to be in the house alone in the morning. Like after Maggie went to school the stillness was unbearable. I couldn’t wait to leave to go to work.

Now that almost two years have past I’m sitting in the family room, just watched Maggie get on the school bus, and physically I’m in the same place but emotionally I’m a 1,000,000 miles away. I’ve made the house my own, got rid of furniture, replaced it with new things, and now I’m okay just being here by myself in the morning.

In fact, I really don’t want to go to work this morning. I’d rather sit and dink around with the Christmas lights than drive my work desk.

Anyways, we make it through the hard times. Let go of what once was and embrace what now is. The pain of the present becomes the fading memories of yesterday.

If we do the right things for the right reasons, when all is said and done we’ll be okay.

#lettherebehope #diariespodcast

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If you're not familiar with AA's Twelve Steps, don't worry none. Just follow along and you'll get the gist.

When I worked Step One I was in horrible, emotional pain. Nightmarish pain that’d wake me up at night. Day in and day out pain unlike anything I’d felt in my life.

And that pain was with me up until after I’d worked my Fifth Step. Then after Step Seven I started to really feel that peace, that everything was gonna be okay. That overwhelming and underlying good feeling that comes from walking a spiritual path.

When I started making my Eighth Step list I wasn’t motivated by pain so much anymore to finish the steps. I was motivated because I wanted something more than what I’d always had in life. I wanted more of the happiness that I’d been given. I was still willing to do whatever it took to stay sober but the willingness came from a different place.

For maybe half of my life I’ve been unhappy. Discontent with how my life was going, what I was doing. Sitting where I do now I know that unhappiness is on me. Sure, I was just doing what I knew how to do but I’d made myself miserable. I wanted something more from life and I knew that making the Eighth Step list and making my Ninth Step amends would help change fundamentally who I was. I’m passive in life and stepping outside of myself, going beyond my limitations was something I knew I could do. And it all started with asking god for help. And being willing, of course.

...

So when I got home from work today I tried to take a nap but I just couldn’t rest for whatever reason. I went downstairs and the cats were yelling because their food bowl wasn’t full enough. Then the robot vacuum tangled itself up in the Christmas tree skirt and was about to tumble down the stairs.

With not getting a nap and the cats and the vacuum, I was losing my patience. Ugh. Plus, I hadn’t had dinner yet.

So then I’m eating cereal and trying to read my meditation books, snap me out of whatever funk I’m in. I picked up the first one and rolled my eyes. Ya, I know about that. I picked up the second one and was like, “fuck I’ve read all of this before.”

I felt like the disgruntled person that I’d been most of my life. Restless, frustrated, and overall just discontent.

When I picked up the third one it’s about a caterpillar on a leaf. YES. It sounded a straightforward bell, something simple that I could latch onto. A concept without complex thoughts and overly wordy spiritual truths.

So the caterpillar spends much of his life eating the same leaves, day in and day out. But then something happens and it grows into something more, it turns into a butterfly. It can fly wherever it wants, sample the sweet nectar from a whole world of flowers. It’s not limited to the leaves that it’s always had. It’s been graced with a newly found freedom.

It got me thinking that I can eat the same leaves I always have. I can have my same life. I can be constantly frustrated and throwing my hands up in the air. Or I can let go and do something different. Be something different. I can be a fruity butterfly.

I got on my knees afterward and prayed, asked God for help, help me live that better kind of life. That I know about.

After I said my prayers the cats came over, trying to love on me. And then I gave them some love back. Life’s just not about me. When I get outside of myself and do for others, life takes on a new meaning. One that feels full.

Even though I’ve been sober I still need to pray for willingness, still need to pray for help. It’s that old saying that “just because I got sober doesn’t mean I get to stay sober.” Sometimes the dysfunction kicks in and I just want to give up, hide from my responsibilities, and not deal with life.

But really I don’t want that life anymore though. I’m willing to do whatever it takes just like I became willing to make my amends. I want my life to have meaning, to have purpose.

I want it to be big. Cosmically big. Butterfly big.

#advancedsoul #twelvesteps #diariespodcast

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In follow up to tonight's earlier PechaKucha Night in Batavia

I was sitting in a room full of people that obviously have the same kind of interests that I do. But I didn’t know anybody. So I did the next rational thing which is to get on my phone, post on Facebook, and visit the event website. For some reason I had it in the back of my mind this was all related to anime or Pokémon or something.[1]

I was quite wrong. It’s more akin to TED Talks but it gives everyone a chance to present. “Great!” I thought non-sarcastically.

I read more from the FAQ. This Q/A stood out:

We believe there is nothing social about online social networks, so get out from behind your screen and get to a live event, with real people, real communication…

Oh.

So there I was at a live event, reading from the event website that I should put down my phone and socialize.

This is a tricky scenario for me. I don’t do well in groups of people, even more so when I don’t know the humans. It’s part of the story when I relapsed. I want to hang out with other like-minded people but group settings make me feel awkward and uncomfortable. Overstimulated. Like I’m in a swimming pool and there’s constant splashing. And too many people talking. And I have water in my ears. And there’s beach balls flying around. And I’m trying to keep myself from drowning. Maybe it’s not exactly like that but it’s close.

Drinking makes social gatherings easier. It lubes the conversations with people I don’t know. It feels like I’m wearing a life jacket when I drink. It takes the edge off. And I have too many edges. Too much shame and too many bullies when I was a kid or something. I doubt if I’ll ever feel confident or at ease in public.

And then also drinking makes me feel normal around other people. Like I fit in then. I’m part of a tribe that I’ve never belonged to. When I relapsed I was in a similar situation, a venue serving alcohol, surrounded by creative people enjoying themselves. And I was out of place. Without social skills. I didn’t know how to swim. And then I got a drink. And then the pool party wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t really a pool party but you get the analogy. And then that one drink last for ten years.

But I wanted to be at tonight’s PechaKucha event, wanted to get to know people in the area other than those in recovery. Not that there’s anything wrong with the latter but I also have a magnetic attraction to another set of people, ones who are artistically passionate. Because we’re similar. Same expressive wavelength. The art makers and art lovers. I’ve got something to say creatively, just as they do.

When I read the “get out from behind your screen” line I knew that I was doing it wrong. So I put my phone away and walked over to the greeter who had taken my money when I came in. I asked her how I could get one of the name badges some people were wearing. The lady told me those people were either helping out with the event or presenting that night. I asked her what time would I get to present. Because when I feel awkward I make jokes. She smiled and told me that I needed to fill out a form and maybe I could present at the next event in February. That was good enough.

I then saw Jaime and his wife across the room. He had invited me so I was happy to see him. And he wasn’t with a group of people. I hate when I feel like I’m standing on the perimeter, waiting for my turn to talk. I won’t even bother with that anymore.

Anyways Jaime, his wife, and I had a nice chat about the event and then meditation which was kinda surprising. But cool. Then the presentations got underway.

I left the event a little early to go to a 12 step meeting. I enjoyed myself at PechaKucha, got a dose of artistic socializing but it’s important for me to remember that if I hang around non-alcoholics too much there’s a good chance I’ll start to think that I’m non-alcoholic as well. But I’m not. When I drink at social gatherings I continue drinking afterward at home. On a Thursday night, well past my bedtime. And then when non-alcoholics are having their morning coffee I’m having a morning drink.

So I guess my takeaway for the night is that it’s important for me to get out. Replenish my artistic well. If I sit at home I’ll have nothing to write about, nothing to talk about. Other than my sad songs from yesterday. Well that’s not completely true but you get the point.

And finally social skills are like any other. I won’t be good at them unless I practice. Put myself out there. Go outside. (Albert gasp).

#pechakucha #socialproblems #alcoholism #lettherebehope #diariespodcast

Maybe because I was pronouncing PechaKucha like Pikachu. That little yellow guy with the black tipped ears. ↑

thank you t.

Yep 😊

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Last night I heard an Al-Anon speaker say that she was very angry with her husband while he was drinking. But really she was scared. Scared for a variety of reasons, if he was going to really hurt himself, and so on.

When I was drinking my ex-wife was also very angry. The kind of anger where it felt like I couldn’t do anything right. And I took that very personal because, to me, it just seemed like she was constantly upset with what I was doing and what I wasn’t doing.

It really struck a chord with me, what the speaker said yesterday. Looking back now I can see that my ex-wife was also most likely scared. And frustrated. And hurt. I wish I could’ve seen through to her fear at the time. Seen her hurt instead of her aggravation. Seen her loneliness instead of her judgment.

I feel sad that I only saw her madness and didn’t or couldn’t see what was underneath.

After I’ve moved on and things have passed, it’s easier for me to have an objective look on what was really going on. But in the moment it’s too hard to detach from the then and there, even more so when emotions are high. We've all heard that anger is just a cover up but I only see the rage when it's directed at me.

I started to tear up listening to the speaker because I felt like if I would’ve seen my ex-wife as simply being hurt and scared I would’ve done things differently when we were married.

Instead of reacting defiantly to her anger, I would’ve tried to react lovingly to her pain.

#alcoholism #relationships #diariespodcast

i was just thinking about this today. thankies for the share.

I think I might think about it a little more often. 😊

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Well, not all of it.

And of course it didn’t go completely according to plan. Maggie and I were going to be gone all weekend and I had a time window of about 30 minutes on Friday to do my thing. I wanted to do it in that particular window, too, so the cushions could be drying until I got back home on Sunday afternoon.

When I brought them back in yesterday I wasn’t tickled. There’s a certain elation that I like to feel when a project is done and with the pink cushions I felt none. But I was a smidge hopeful they’d grow on me after I got them back on the couch.

But they didn’t.

The paint was still damp, probably because the temperature has been colder, freezing at night, and so on. And the garage doesn’t have any air flow either. No breeze, no circulation. And no sun light. So the cushions went out into the yard where I was hoping they’d de-fumigate in the afternoon sun and fresh air.

After the sun went down I brought them back in. Still not dry after their four hour sun bath. And still fumey. Maggie noted that it look liked somebody was murdered on our couch, that I could’ve just washed them to try and get the stains out. That’s not how I do things though. There’s this emotional drive, this overwhelming urge to put my stamp on all my stuff. I can’t help it.

And what’s more: when I was painting them I was in a hurry, just trying to cover up the stains. Too much function and barely a drop of form. I didn’t have whimsy fun on my mind nor was I creatively expressing myself. I ran out of fabric paint in a matter of minutes so I resorted to using regular pink spray paint. Because I was gonna get them done in my time allowance. I was determined, focused, and intent. Tunneling down a path and there was no changing course.

And they looked like it when all was said and done, too.

But I knew there was something to Maggie’s thought of putting them in the wash. It might tame them a bit. I’m not above listening to another’s feedback and if there’s something there, if it feels right I’ll act on it.

So off the cushion covers came and down to the laundry room we went. Now normally when I’m being artistic and fancy, I pause and ask the cosmos for guidance. I do this because I fuck shit up when I do it on my own. Seriously. Even when it comes painting or sculpting or any kind of building, I need to channel the universe’s energy and the like. And back on Friday I was the boss, rushing through the sofa makeover like I was hosing down prisoners.

Anyways, I Spray ‘n Wash®'ed where the stains were, set the washer to whites, added a splash of bleach to the soap, and then waited for the second round of results.

And I’ll be damned if most of the paint didn’t come out along with all of the stains. The covers were 90% perfect.

“Did the spray paint really come out in the wash?” you ask. Yes, almost all of it really did and I suspect it was because the paint wasn’t completely dry and the fabric itself is like a linen, canvas material and not like a cotton t-shirt. Later when I was talking with Sara, she said that the fabric may have been sprayed with a stain-resister, too. Which makes perfect sense.

I washed them one more time to lighten them a bit more and then they were good to go.

So there ya have it. The couch is as exactly as I want it to look. It’s clean with a hint of color just like Albert’s socks. Maybe a little more subdued that I originally planned but more often than not if I let the cosmos be my guide, things will turn out better than I could’ve ever imagined. Be it relationships or careers or spray painting your couch.

There's still one ink stain from a pen on the left but I can live with that for the time being.

#photos #homeimprovement #pinkcouch #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

Albert’s socks. GOD DAM I SAID GOD DAM! I enjoyed Albert’s socks at least as much as Uma enjoyed the go-juice she hoovered off the bathroom sink.

Uma’s the coolest!

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Well, I guess there’s nothing that would actually stop me but what are the pros and cons? The ebbs and flows? The ups and downs of such a Jackson Pollock maneuver? Granted he used brushes and had more of a splatter/drip/drop technique with the reds and the blues and the blacks. Also, in his most delightful biographical movie, starring Ed Harris, Pollock did in fact urinate in someone’s fireplace. Which of course I would never do. But still, this isn’t the kind of painting operation your average Home Goods shopper thinks about, let alone strongly considers.

So back to the couch makeover. Before answering, know beforehand I’m not intending to cover the whole couch with spray paint, only accenting the three seat cushions. I was thinking more along the lines of background emphasis, similar to this I'm a Mess t-shirt that I made.

You maybe wondering what kind of fabric the couch has. That is a very good question. It’s a soft linen fabric, white in color. It’s a bit lighter than cream but not a bright white either. It’s lost it’s luster and is kinda drab. I’m not a big fan of drab. I like color. There’s also stains here and there because kids and I’d like to reverse that with some, possibly pink, artistic flare.

Throughout my life adventures I’ve never spray painted such a fabric. Or a couch. Do you think this material is absorbent enough to hold the spray paint? Will the drying time be less than a day? See, I actually do want to use the couch again at some point and don’t want it taking up space as a nonfunctional art piece. I really don’t want to be wearing it.

Also, how long might the cushions smell like paint? I’d rather them not be fuming up the place well into the new year. Thanksgiving is coming up and all and I’d like any and all vapors to have vanished by then. Even though no one‘s coming to my house for Thanksgiving, my cats will be home and I don’t want them high as kitty kites, glossy eyes, silver mouths, that whole bit. I want to avoid them getting hooked on and huffing spray paint, stealing it from the neighbors, and/or whatever the hoodlum alleycats are doing these days. I also don’t want them dead.

You maybe wondering if I’ve inhaled too much paint exhaust as well. I can answer, honestly, that I have not. I simply live alone with my daughter and that affords me the freedom to explore whatever whimsy comes to mind. I have, however, learned throughout my various adventures not to rush into things such as this without first seeking expert upholstery and medical advice beforehand.

Thoughts?

#homeimprovement #helpwanted #pinkcouch #diariespodcast

They make a paint specifically for this purpose:

https://www.michaels.com/fabric-spray-paint/M10117037.html?dwvar_M10117037_color=Glitter

Perfect! I was ready to use the same paint that I used on your shirt. 🎨 😉

I haven’t tried it, but I suspect the fabric paint will give a better result for a high-wear area like a couch. You don’t want the paint coming off on people’s clothes. Also it comes in glitter colours, so it’s win-win.

Ooh. You know what else you could do? Sharpie makes a set of fabric markers. You could illustrate your couch. Just test first, because the ink bleeds a bit on some fabrics.

Yep, I used fabric markers on your shirt for the lettering. They’re one of the best things ever invented.

I ordered this paint earlier this morning so we’ll see how it does as a base.

Maybe I’ll bust out the sharpies for some focal points 😊

Can’t go wrong with “Brite Pink”. Except maybe on a spelling test. 🤔

I was kinda thinking about Rainbow Brite when I was checking out.

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Sometimes I’m driving along, got something on my mind. And then I get the feeling that whatever I'm thinking about, well, I think that I should be worried about it.

And then I start thinking, “why the hell am I not having a panic attack?” Like this is some serious shit Why am I not freaking out? People could figuratively die. Even more than that, what will people think of me if this goes south? This could confirm that I am indeed “not enough.”

And then I think that I shouldn't worry, that everything will be okay and things will work out.

And then I second-guess myself, like maybe I’m being cocky.

And then I think maybe this is just how regular people live. They don’t race to work in a state of terror, needing to make sure whatever is causing them panic, the trembling, is fixed and fine.

It feels kinda nice not to live in a constant hysterical state. Even more so when I’m driving. I’ve had most of my panic attacks in the car. Because there was nothing that I could do. In that moment. I was helpless. Had to sit with my emotions. Feel all the bumpers. There was no escape.

Anyways, I don’t have to live with my heart racing. It’s pretty awesome not to.

And even if life does melt down, I can be okay.

Even if my silvery, steel ball needs to slam each and every target before going down the drain.

#advancedsoul #lettherebehope #diariespodcast

Gonna get me a little oblivion, baby

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One time my brother ate a whole bag of walnuts. And my mom was furious. She still talks about it to this day even though said feeding happened sometime in the 80s. Apparently the walnuts were a gift to my mom from my grandpa during one of his nation-wide adventures. I think they came from out west but nobody knows for sure since he was known to disappear for weeks on end during his “fishing trips.”

One time grandpa bought a whole everglade forest or something in Florida. On a whim. I had always hoped to see it someday, to see if the elusive feathered-bigfoot-alligator was a real thing. But that never happened because the older I got, the less swamp sounded like fun.

I see I’ve drifted off on a tangent. The above paragraph is neither here nor there to this post. It is not in a fox. It is not in a box. It is not in a boat. It is not in a moat.

Anyways, my mom had planned to make these nutted brownies[1] with the supposedly delicious western walnuts. Alas, she was forced to make brownies sans nuts. And seriously, chances are 92% that if I (or anyone else) ever mention walnuts to her, even in the casualest of conversations, her face will still flush with the fury of a baker betrayed.

Now then… I would like to make restitution on behalf of my walnut-eating brother[2] (and his 80s afro) to my mom and get her a new bag of walnuts. No, I don’t have to do this but I’m sure my mom’s face would also flush if she ever knew about one of the times I [redacted]. Therefore I’ve taken it upon myself to try and fix this little piece of history.

Will it work, beloved and devoted readers?

Well, that’s where you come in: where is the best place to get the best walnuts around town? I’m not looking for the best price, I’m looking for the best nut. Chopped or otherwise. Not ground though. Who the hell can do anything with ground walnuts this late in the season? Certainly not me. And not more than a pound. I’m not stalking up for seed apocalypse here.

Also, be aware: any answers that start with “Super Target has Blue Diamonds” will be publicly mocked.

#helpwanted #diariespodcast

Is that what you call them? Nutted brownies? Or brownies with nuts? You pick. ↑

You maybe asking yourself why he ate a whole bag of walnuts. I wondered myself when I was but a boy. The only thing I can come up with is that he smoked one of his doobies and that put the hunger in bones. ↑

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