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I have a (fucking) potty mouth (dammit). I stopped at the devil's house on the way back from the grocery store for my afternoon fix and noticed they installed a wheelchair accessible table for handicap patrons. I think this is a great idea and more stores should do it. However, rarely does what I think mean much in the grand scheme of things. I should be in Austin right now getting ready for the show, but I just couldn't make it. I have been busy sorting out things here at home. My life has found some personal chaos in the last week. Someone who I have a great respect for told me a few days ago that I needed someone in my life to keep me grounded or I would float away. Have you ever read a piece of literature and walked away from it knowing it has meaning that is obvious to the most casual observer and meaning that is elusive and coy and dancing just beyond your comprehension... a meaning that you only grasp after a few days of marination and dissection? That simple and somewhat cliché remark struck my consciousness with a harmonizing chord. Maybe he said it jovially and in passing without giving it a second thought. Maybe he didn't. Either way, it resurfaces periodically in my daily hoo-ha soup and I wonder each time. Unfortunately, the chaos I speak of orbits material attachment to my past in Virginia Beach and not something so enlighteningly fun as sociopsychobabble. It would be a good topic conversation over soft music and a full bodied, dry merlot none the less, but talking to myself isn't as fun as it used to be.