Good guy police department does a solid for its unpaid crime lab intern. https://imgur.com/gallery/8yVV8
It’s Sunday. It was a hot, productive day. I’m listening to Los Fabulosos Cadillacs. A week from now I’ll have seen them perform live in Guatemala City. Never did I think it would happen, but the music gods are sometimes kind.
Here, have a listen:
I’m finding self-acceptance, gratitude, joy. Yes, joy. I must embrace these moments. Let them caress me. They have already.
Some gratitude/observations throughout my day, so far.
- Sitting on an 8th floor office, sipping a cup of coffee. I’m not a coffee snob, so… yes, I have no idea how they made it, but it’s pretty damn good.
- The amount of traveling vendors on the bus I rode was minimal. Always a plus.
- Although getting up today was no small feat, I felt like last night provided three simple pleasures: part of an old Sex and The City rerun I hadn’t seen, reading a few intense poems by Eduardo Villalobos, and falling asleep to a live album by Benny Ibarra (I hadn’t played his music in a long while).
- Quality time with Peanut before heading out. Gave him a treat, fed him, changed his bowl of water and provided much needed kisses.
- An ATM in the building’s lobby: sweet!
- Remembering past great American Dad moments, most of them not rape-related (seriously, what’s with American Dad and Family Guy’s morbid fascination with child molestation and rape?)
Sean: So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you’d probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. And I’d ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, “once more unto the breach dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, ’cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don’t see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You’re an orphan right?
Sean: You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally… I don’t give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can’t learn anything from you, I can’t read in some fuckin’ book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t want to do that do you sport? You’re terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.