#Monday Morning Commute

Monday Morning Commute: See Ya Later, Ya Leadfoots

space-ship omega

MondayMondayMonday Morning Commute! It’s the column!

It’s my one-year anniversary today, yo. The Wife and I. Dang hitched. I don’t feel much regarding it, though. Spoke about it with the better half, and we’re both like, you know. Shrug emoji. The date that sticks out to the both of us is our initial date. Feels more genuine than the $20,000+ back-patting we threw for…our parents a year ago.

I mean, don’t get me wrong.

It was a great night.

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Monday Morning Commute: It’s All In (Everyone’s) Mind

yesyesyes

This is Monday Morning Commute.

Went to a wedding tonight. That’s why I’m tardy. Went to a wedding tonight, witnessed matrimony and bullshit. Circumstance and overwrought sentiment. Reflected on the fact that my wife was a good call, the best call, definitely the right call to partner up with in this Life. ‘Til dirt, folks. ‘Til dirt. Probably going to ride this Space-Ship ’til dirt, too. I’ll hope you’ll board her with me. Hang out in the common hall. Sleep, and shit, and sing, and screw, and scream in your cabin. Pass time, pass gas, pass (favorable) judgment on one another.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

Join me, friends. In this metaphorical common hall, on the Internet, a metaphor, within our shared existed in the RealiVerse, also a metaphor. Join me, friends. Tell me what you’re looking forward to this week. Share what you’re going to be doing this week. Declare what your intentions are for the next five-day (four, really, after today) rock-rolling.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

Let’s hang out.

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Monday Morning Commute: Dive Bars, Dive Far

dive bars dive fa

Nice goddamn night to write Monday Morning Commute. Windows open. Pleasant breeze. The gentle, but not intrusive hum of caffeine thumping down the vein-pipes. But, for a moment, I am content. How are you doing, friends? I hope you’re doing well. Well enough, at the least.

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Monday Morning Commute: how to slowly .exe yourselves and others in 20XX

cybertopia

Monday Morning Commute! On a Monday Evening! Better than a Tuesday Afternoon, not as good as a legitimate Monday Morning! Feelin’ pretty good, man. Classes are finally over, man. Doing a bit of tutoring, but hey. Can’t complain about that. Making money. Still having to drive into Boston during quasi-rush hour, but hey. Can’t complain about that. I’m getting to sleep until 9:00, which is a fucking blessing from the Elder Ones.

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Tuesday Afternoon Commute: Your Consciousness™, Powered By Google

tremendous

Tuesday Afternoon Commute! I’m a day late. I’ve spent the last few days in a Theraflu haze. Thanks to my wife for bringing a death-flu back from the last conference she worked. Thanks to my wife for giving me the house I live in though, I suppose, I admit, begrudgingly, with her wonderful private sector job. A give and take, in life. A give and take, in existence.

What can you do? What can you do? What can you do? A little, or a lot. A lot, or a little. It all depends, it all depends.

What can I do? Well, I’m going to list the shit that I’m up to this week, that’s capturing my attention this week, that I’m sweating this week. Then I hope you do in the same in the comments section.

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Monday Morning Commute: The Future Is A 55-Inch TV

downloadingdownloadingdownloading

This is the Future. I’m talking to you, whomever you are, through a screen. This is the Future. I’m watching Wrestling on my 55-inch TV, and Basketball on my 17 -inch computer screen. At the same time. This is the Future. I’m doing all of this while my wife browses the Universe on an implement (under the antiquated titled of a “phone”) that can fit in her hand. If Gibson is right, and the Future is Here, but not Evenly Distributed, it’s certainly Arrived At My House.

This is the Future, and I want to spend it on the Space-Ship Omega. Here. In Monday Morning Commute. Telling you what I’m looking forward to this week.

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Monday Morning Commute: Nuka Cola, Nuke A Sky, Nuke Your Soul

nuka cola!

Feel like every time I pen one of these, my wife is out on business. But that’s what you got to do, when you make the big bucks in the family. Feel like every time I pen one of these, and my wife is out on business, I’m about to order pizza. But that’s what you got to do, when you’re a fat kid masquerading in a chubby kid’s body, and you refuse to cook for yourself. Feel like every time I pen one of these, I’m just winging it. But that’s what you go to do, when you’re exhausted from teaching and then tutoring for six hours straight, and you ain’t ate until eight or maybe even late(r).

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Tuesday Afternoon Commute: [Insert Perfunctory Title]

the distant future

It’s Tuesday Afternoon Commute! I’m lazy. Yesterday it was a holiday here in the Boston-based Existence. Patriots’ Day. This meant a long weekend for the wife and me, which meant I was too busy sitting on my ass with her to write up a dollop of inciting (to post, not to engulf the world in fanboy-fueled fury) prose for you all. So here I am!

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Monday Morning Commute: Now Is The Time For Panic

Monday Morning Commute- Now Is The Time For Panic

Monday Morning Commute! Another seven days or so have past since we last met. How is your existence? Persistent? Intermittent? Fleeting, flitting, between this Universe and the next? Sliding up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right through linear time-space?  Another seven days or so have past since we last met. It’s weird, not really having anything to report.

My class and I had a discussion (as we are wont to do, every semester) about comfort versus happiness. Most thought that comfort is preferred to genuine happiness. Those who stay in relationships despite them being “eh”, those who stay at jobs despite them being “eh”, you know.

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Monday Morning Commute: the whirlybird of universal disconstants

the whirlybind of universal constants

Looking back upon my past, over the past (six months), of the past (several years), two questions have arisen. The first one, perhaps obvious, is: who am I? The second one, perhaps obvious, perhaps not obvious, is: who was I? It’s easy to sift through the wreckage, the diamonds, the wrecked diamonds of your past these days. Facebook and Timehop provide constant reminders of what you were doing, this day, year, years, eons, ago. A feedback loop of experience. Remembering the remembrances, especially if you share those memories of memories. A feedback loop of experience.

I don’t know if I’ve gotten older (slowed down) or I’ve gotten older (matured) or if I’ve gotten older-older. But, this much is certain: I do not recognize the Man piercing time-space from the Linear-Past. Or more accurately: I do not recognize when I stopped being the Man piercing time-space from the Linear-Past, and became the older-older, more haunted, more nostalgic CaffPow.

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