sparks

fuckn' hell.
i should be writing more often than this.
its a fight.
but sundays are a day of surrender.
and sunday night even moreso.

this week was an ordinary week.
a good week.
full of work, chas, friends, stuff...
exercise. fuckn' shit. raquetball?
it is quite a moment at 30 years old...
(oh shit, 31 years old)
to admit to yourself you've never been
as out of shape in your life as you are now...
fuckn' hell.

stretch.
remember.
body.
strength.


ok, so its superbowl sunday.
10pm.
the smokey aftermath is blowing by.
jay and i sold our souls to costco, home depot, and albertsons
so that we could pull a barbeque out of our arse...
and it was fucking worth it.
completely.
steaks. ahi. skewers. beer n' guacamole. what was forgotten?

it was a great group of people to balance the game,
the food, and the mutherfucking commercials...
commercials.
when does one pee?
miss the game or miss the culture?

guilty confession#1:
completely sold on the promos during the game,
eneded up watching "grey's anatomy" after the game.
tried to find the michael stipe and coldplay cover of "in the sun"
they used in the episode... too bad. too new.
listened to joseph arthur as we cleaned up the house.
listening to coldplay now.
feels like talking to an old friend.
strange how that changes.


what else?
chemo continues.
lymph nodes swell.
yecht!