I yam at the Group Home at Houghton Lake and those are the kinds of things you can get down at the corner store. You can get pizza too and that’s what we’re having tonight. Which is good because the alternative was the North Shore Bar and the North Shore Bar is fine but I didn’t want to go there tonight ’cause it took me almost the whole trip up here to chillax (ducking to avoid a certain beach urchin’s blows) and I wasn’t even driving this time and all I wanted to do was get to the Group Home. I was in over-stimulation mode. Sensory integration issues, anyone? I got sick of listening to people on NPR analyze the damn stock market to death. People? It goes up and it goes down. That is all. Don’t getcher underware in a bunch. So we switched to that newfangled satty-light radio and I didn’t like what was on that either, so the GG switched to his iTunes and that was marginally better except that Bob Dylan’s nasally old voice felt like somebody crawling their fingernails down a chalkboard. And do not get me wrong, I love old Bob but my hearing has got to be about five times more acute than the GG’s and I just could not take the volume, which I *know* was not really all that loud. And then there was that Puma camper that insisted on traveling slowly in the left lane on the non-freeway stretch north of Lansing that everybody but the GG was passing on the right and I hate when people pass on the right but this time it probably wouldda been the right thing to do. Oh, and we were north of *Lansing* because I checked my phone before we left and it looked like the I75 SUV Speedway was one big parking lot. No thank you.

But now we are here — finally — and we are with the Uncly Uncle and The Beautiful Gay and Jim and The Beautiful Chelsea and a couple of dogs and hopefully not any bats because they have found a couple of rabid bats on the Planet Ann Arbor. (Sorry, didn’t mean to freak anybody out ;-)) I have not seen a gallinipper yet but I haven’t really been outside. I’m sure they are around. At least when I yam at the Group Home at Houghton Lake, there is nobody around to remind me of all the stoopid stuff I did in my misspent youth and that’s a good thing ’cause, yaknow, I really do not wanna remember most o’ that stuff. I was who I was, and life was often difficult for me, growing up in a small northern outpost where there were all these pesky social rules that my rather larger-than-life personality could not figger out how to fit into. Nobody around here knew me before I was in my middle 20s and by that time, well, I may still have been a little wild but I *was* capable of holding down a responsible full-time job and all that stuff. I am blocking all that other stuff as hard as I can. Except when *I* feel like talking about it.

I gotta go now. You are happy about that. We have a finicky “switch” up here at the Group Home and we keep intermittently losing them thar tubes, which is a dern pain in the you know what ’cause some of us cannot live without having access to them thar tubes every single second of the day, don’tcha know. So the GG has schlepped up a new “switch” and he wants to try to swap the old one out and so I have to finish this up so I can be offline for a while if I need to be. That is, except for the Edge network…

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