#Monday Morning Commute

Monday Morning Commute: Nervous about not being nervous

monday morning commute nervous about not being nervous

Pop-quiz, dick heads! What does a tranquil, peaceful weekend mean, after a tumultuous spring? Does it mean that I’m feeling good about my mental health? Or, does it mean I’m incredibly skeptical, and wondering when the shoe will drop? If you guessed the former, you are beautiful and give me too much credit. Anyways, yeah! I feel good. It’s nice. It’s fleeting, oh I’m sure, but it’s nice. Thankfully, I have a good amount I’m either enjoying or going to be enjoying this week, and I’m about to drop them on your ass. After all, that’s the very point of this here Monday Morning Commute. Then, I hope you’ll share your own haunts and happenings in the comments section!

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Monday Morning Commute: Pain is Part of the Path

monday moring commute pain is part of the path

If pain is part of the path, I’m fucking crushin’ it, my dudes! I’m a real fucking pathfinder! Just dinging into things, physically, emotionally, and existentially! Bumping my shins, cursing loudly! But, I’m also doing deec as the kids say. Said! Probably said a long time ago. And, I’m here with you, my VirtuaFriends.

Spending some time in Monday Morning Commute! Showing you what I’m looking forward to this week! What I’m interested in. What I’m enjoying.

I hope you’ll share your own happenings and hype-beasts in the comments!

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Monday Morning Commute: I’m Trying My Best

monday morning commute i'm trying my best

I’m like, really bad at relaxing. Really, really bad. So bad that despite the fact that I’m supposed to have this week off from work, I still went in yesterday. Better yet, I ended up tutoring, too! It’s just, just difficult for me to wind down from teaching a class (or four) and tutoring thirty hours a week, and segue into not burning out glorious upon the Fury Road. I mean, today, my wife had to talk me out of going to the gym before I go to spin class tonight. I’m trying! I’m trying my goddamn best. I mean, I gave up on two trips to the gym today! That’s gotta…that’s gotta be progress, I think?

But, I’m here now! Connecting with you, my fellow trash-blesssed folk aboard the Space-Ship Omega! Inviting you to join me here in Monday Morning Commute! I got, I got a serious fucking caffeine buzz going, and I’m about to enumerate the various bullshit I’m excited about this week. The happenings that are happening that will happen to help me to enjoy this week off from work.

Then! If the Eldritch Ones hear my prayer, you’ll share your own weekly musings in the comments section.

Shazam!

Excelsior!

Et cetera!

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Monday Morning Commute: a life anything but prescribed

mmc

He’d been told that as long as he maintained his regimen, he’d be able to keep pressin’ them down.

The flashbacks, that is.

When he was faithful, really faithful, to the routine his doctor’d advised him to keep, they weren’t that bad. Just sort of bleaked-out, occasional billboard-spotted-through-fog-on-a-lonely-highway memories. They’d light up quick and fade away quicker, like the business end of a cigarette in a rainstorm.

A moment of unpleasantness, for sure, but a moment. Just a moment. Without doubt.

But when he strayed? When he’d decided to listen to everyone who’d told him that he’d be a fool to keep listenin’ to a doctor who’d had his license revoked? When he’d had a lapse in conviction, cavin’ into the temptation to follow the advice of the squares and mouthbreathers and so-called respectable folks who’d never condescend to put their feet in his shoes, much less walk in them?

What then?

Well, the unpleasant moments felt like minutes and hours and days. The rainstorm that’d snuff out a cigarette would become a monsoon of memory, a typhoon of nausea. The fog’d part on the highway to reveal splatter-remains, and he’d be astrally-projected back into his younger self to relive the horror over and over and over and over.

Worse than you can imagine.

So he’d taken kind to dutifully following the orders of a doctor who’d had to flee the country. Long, long walks in hot, hot heat. Lots of water. Micro-doses of LSD before viewing Mel Brooks movies. Beer — never lite — in the early afternoon. Avoid ice cream. Avoid pharmaceuticals. Weed at nite only. Daily yogurt. Weekly trips to the demolition derby.

And it’d all helped. It didn’t make him better. But it’d made him better.

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

Now that you’ve endured a bit of my drivel-fiction, it’s time for us to discuss what we’ll all be up to this week. I’ll start, and then you hyperspace into the comments section and share what boredom-destroying, life-improving, depression-suppressing activities you’ll be rockin’!

Let’s go!

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Monday Morning Commute: CLONE v. TULPA

clone v. tulpa
I’d never felt more torn in my life.

On the left, brandishing a butterknife still covered in sow’s blood and screaming the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish, was my clone. My genetic duplicate who’d been paid for with the sex-worker money I’d earned during my gap year in Amsterdam. He’d been a good friend, in spite of the the booze and pills and the gambling he’d foisted onto me.

I really didn’t want to see my clone die.

On the right, wearing a bullskin loincloth and spitting out kerosene he’d been swigging from an old tin can, was my tulpa. He’d been there for me when things got really tough with that woman in the Amazon. He’d been more than an ayahuasca fever-dream come to life, he’d been a confidant, even if he’d had a thing for midnight-slaughterings of local villagers’ livestock.

I really didn’t want to see my tulpa die.

But when you’re feelin’ like you’re watchin’ the best parts of yourself tear each other to shreds, I find that — even if it hurts — it’s best to just step aside. Watch out for the splatter. Crack a beer. Wait for it all to be over.

And take solace in the fact that no matter how it all goes down, you’ll get to walk away.

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

We’ve got my drivel-fiction out of the way, so let’s move onto the real task at hand — sharing the stuff we’ll be checking out during the week! I’ll go first, then you hit up the comments section and tell everyone what movies, TV shows, podcasts, video games, bottles of booze, pinball tournaments, or other ephemera you’ll be using to curb the sting of the workweek!

Rock? Yes! Roll? Forever!

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Monday Morning Commute: The Least Prestigious Blog

monday morning commute people care what i think

Welcome, to another installment in Monday Morning Commute. It’s a barely-fair-to-even-call-it-regular-let-alone-weekly column here on the Space-Ship Omega. Within it I, a purveyor of poor taste and poorer morals, share what I’m up to during a given week. You know, what I’m enjoying. What I’m looking forward to at the end of the week, utilizing said anticipation as a rip-cord to pull me through the doldrums of the M-F Grind.

I’m sorry I’ve been in absentia. I’ve just been fucking busy, man. However I’m here now! And this is what I’m fucking digging this week! And this is what I expect from you: to join me in the comments section.

Let’s go!

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Monday Morning Commute: I don’t know how to think anymore.

I don't know how to think anymore.

I don’t know how to think anymore.

I tried to write an earnest reflection about how I’m currently feeling about life. But, lo and behold, it turned out to be an overwrought thinkpiece of half-nonsense and half-pretense, and ultimately a whole lot of nothing. I’m thirty-one, which is five years too old to wax philosophic and call it honor.

So I killed that darling.

Then I tried to write one of my standard pieces of drivel-fiction. Y’know, the ones where I use robots and space as stand-ins for people and circumstances. The one I tried to hack away at this week was about an android named Dorothy who couldn’t bring herself to kill a dog, despite being able to predict that the dog was going to maim a little boy. Engrossing, I know, but it just felt too paint-by-numbers for me.

So that darling got killed, too.

Where does that leave us? Where does that leave me? Well, I guess all I can say is that I don’t know what – or maybe even how – to think anymore. But I have to believe that some of you are still thinkin’!

So let’s do this, MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m going to tell you what I’ve got lined up for this week. Then you swoop in to comment on my plans and share your own.

Let’s rock!

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Monday Morning Commute: It Never Answers Back

monday morning commute it never answers back

How are you folks doing? I know it’s been quiet around here. Sure, there’s the occasional pop-culture kernel that I’m interested in enough to share. As well, there’s the Facebook page, which seems to have struck ground as an enjoyable repository for said kernels and infinite memes. And finally, yeah, we do stream every weekend on Twitch. But around here, man. The hub. It’s been quiet. At first, I wasn’t sure why it was so hard to maintain the grease on the perpetual-engine at the center of the Space-Ship Omega, but then I remembered.

We’re all just sort of busy.

Rendar’s got two jobs. Bateman’s got, I’m not really sure how many jobs. I oscillate between teaching four classes and one class depending on the semester, and I’m always tutoring 30+ students a week. Compliment that with a commute which is generally one-and-a-half-hours each way every day, and well. I’m fucking tired, man.

All of this is a meandering preamble to serve as both an acknowledgement that it’s quiet around here, an apology for said quiet, a paean for the older days, a notice that I miss you folks, and a reasoning for why things can get so quiet.

I hope you’re well. I hope you’re still here, even if you’re lurking. And if you’re not, eh, I can’t blame you. Entropy claims everything.

But, I’m here now, dudes! I’m here now, with yet another tardy Monday Morning Commute. It’s the gabfest where I share what I’m looking forward to in a given week! So, without further ado, here’s what I’m sweating!

I hope you’ll join me in the comments section!

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Monday Morning Commute: Presidents’ Day

Presidents' Day

Don’t try tell me about patriotism, hombre.

Y’think you’re a patriot? Y’think you love America? Y’think you’ve bled red, white, and blue for the nation?

Well, who am I t’say y’haven’t?  Nobody. So I won’t.

But let me just give you a hypothetical. What if there was a guy who somehow figured out how to travel to different realities? Y’know, like, different dimensions. And what if every time he went to a different reality, it wreaked havoc on his body? And what if we ain’t talkin’ `bout no minor headache – we’re talkin’ about bleedin’ from the eyes and bones feelin’ like they’re breakin’ and lungs wheezin’ out but not fillin’ up and vomitin’ out the ass and a really bad genital rash?

Y’know, like how it is after takin’ some really quality club drugs.

Anyways, back to my point. So, what if – just what if – despite all of negative repercussions, this guy keeps on travelin’ to different realities? And what if this transdimensional sojournin’ wasn’t for recreational purposes, but for patriotic ones?  Y’know, like, a fact-findin’ mission. Go on enough to find out how different scenarios play out, and y’might be able to help your nation steer away from the Sirens and towards Valhalla.

“If this went that way and that went this way, well, then we’d be better off! What if `ole Jelly Bean Reagan didn’t run for a second term? What if Baby Hitler choked on a chicken bone? What if? What if?!”

So, despite killin’ himself slowly – and surely – this guy keeps hoppin’ into different realities, all for the sake of givin’ Uncle Sam the fullest report possible. Would y’call this guy a patriot?

Y’goddamn right.

Apologies if I come across as rambunctious, I just always get whupped up on Presidents’ Day.

But, as President RFK once said, “Get me a coffee, a copy of the Times, and an answer as to why the hell we don’t have a moonbase yet!”

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

Now that you’ve survived some drivel-fiction, it’s time to share what we’ll all be doing this week. Y’know, to survive the grind of the day-to-day.

What albums, books, movies, video games, beers, roller coasters, pharmaceuticals, aerobics classes, or foodstuffs will you be using as protective padding these next few days?

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Monday Morning Commute: Face-Smashed Freedom

Face-Smashed Freedom

Smash your face through the glass.

Don’t resist. Why resist? Because you think there’s another way out? Because you think that someone will come to save you? Because you think the robot sent to murder you would rather have a smoke break instead?

There isn’t. They won’t. It wouldn’t.

So with your arms tied behind your back and that glass window the only means of egress at your disposal, you’ve only got one viable option. You’ve got to smash your face through that fucking glass, projectile yourself through the jagged shards, and pray to Baal that you don’t fatal-nick any of your precious heart-tubes.

But if you pull it off, you’ll be staved. Not saved — `cause no who’s been targeted by one of those clunky metal fucks gets away forever – but staved. And don’t give me any shit about the “you” not being the direct object or that it’s “the inevitable” or “your demise” that’s been “staved off,” because I know what the fuck I’m going for here.

Anyways, I hear the gears and whirrings of a Kill-Bot coming. So, what’re you going to do? Accept your doom or fight for a few more minutes of possibility? What do I suggest?

Smash your face through the glass.

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

Now that you’ve survived a worrisome bit of drivel-fiction, it’s time to share the fun stuff we’ll be doin’ this week! What’re you puttin’ into your brain so that it lights up? What’s the rock that you’ll be rollin’ to get through the workin’ days?

Let’s go!

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