Life Path 3
Expression 3
Soul Urge 11

These are my online numerology stats. I fell down a rabbit hole and probably had my data mined. I had nothing else to do. Mike naps on the couch. Bill is on the road. He just told me he will be gone for another 2 weeks, which does not make me happy. The payoff is good, so this is the sacrifice that must be made.

I can’t really say, but I am of the opinion that the play Bill was in over the summer hurt his finances. He was not on the road, so no money was coming in. And though the play did pay, he did not get paid until the very end, so that was about 3 weeks of no money coming in. I do not like Bill being on the road for so long in the winter.

We’re not getting any younger, and yes, Bill has years of experience, but there should be a point where if you have to work, it should be a little bit easier. I just wrote that and realized that not everyone has that option for an ‘easy’ job. I lucked out, that’s for sure. Not everyone has the same opportunity. And Bill loves doing what he does. I am weary of the stress and circumstances that may befall him.

It’s two days before I return to my own gig. It’s easy, not stressful at all. After two weeks off from work, there is that anxious feeling in my gut. And then I remind myself that it’s a good job for me, and I quietly decompress from the anxiety.

Mike is awake now. Looking at his laptop and more than likely engrossed in a chat room that revolves around cigars and the men that smoke ‘em. Since the room is 99% white, Mike is quite exotic and succumbs to the private whispers of cigar smoking men from around the world. I’ve been in the room in the past on the original website, which died along with Joe Whitaker, who created it.

A bloke from Europe started a new cigar men website, and Mike was quite resistant to it. That was before he had a laptop. It wasn’t working well with his Samsung phone. Now he is no longer resistant. I have popped up in the chat room, complimenting him and posting that I wish he were not so far away. Two feet away…

And the numeroilogy rabbit hole. It was free, so that made for a smooth fall down the rabbit hole. Those numbers mean that I am a good person or so it says. And I do try to be a good person. The sins are in the past.

The POSOTUS invaded Venezuela and kidnapped their President Maduro and his wife to be imprisoned in Brooklyn. Maduro was no saint, and now the standing of the United States on the world stage plummets even further. I find him so incredibly loathsome with absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Thursday, January 1, 2026. Better get used to writing 2026. Then again, I sometimes lose the plot with regard to time, especially decades. I can’t believe that the 1990’s were 30 years ago. It is a fact that they were, but lost in the corridors of my mind, feeling like I am in my forties, or on good days, my thirties. I am perplexed by the calendar year.

Whereas in the past few years, I’ve generally had a Beatles calendar, or a Warhol calendar, this year I got a Banksy calendar, which is more or less unlicensed, I’m certain. The Gifted Stationery Company, developed in Great Britain, was printed in China. A little bit of buyer’s remorse.

Bill is on the road, south of the Mason-Dixon line. Presently, in the state, kids like to spell out. He’s been flying all over the place and is on the last leg of this current excursion. Then there is another immediately following.

In his place, our son, Mike. He’s been outstanding. Just pleasant to be around. He does his thing, I do mine, eventually they overlap. It’s been fun. We’ve been having a good time. We’ve shot videos for the groups on social media that we are a part of.

I sometimes wonder what people that I have introduced Mike to think. We were out briefly yesterday and ran into the delightful Eileen Quinn. We chatted briefly, and I introduced Eileen to Mike. Sometimes, when Bill and I introduce Mike to someone, we sometimes tell them that Mike is our son.

And in so many ways, he is. He calls Bill and me his Dads. And we call each other Son or Dad when in the apartment. Spillover is to be expected, I suppose. It been most pleasant having Mike here. Being alone does not do me any good, and Mike ably steps in. Gone are the nitpicking arguments and the resentment that followed.

This past Sunday, I hung out with RoDa, which has been something I’ve been meaning to do for quite some time. I brought some Christmas cookies, some THC seltzers, and a prerolled flower. Of course, RoDa had his own offerings. We sat, we smoked, we drank seltzer, and talked. I was quite smoked out. RoDa was gracious enough to allow me to smoke a cigar while there.

I lost track of time and space as RoDa talked; I was all over the place in the corridors of my mind. I never noticed before that when RoDa tells a story, he also does the voices of people he was talking about, which, in my clouded state, was amazing.

And before that, on Christmas, Mike, Bill, and I went to Garfield for yet another lovely dinner prepared. We were joined by my niece Meghan, her husband Rob, and their awesome daughter Shelby. I came prepared with a gift, something I bought near the fruit stand on an excursion into Manhattan with Mike.

Wait, I wrote that already. The Mary Had a Little Lamb post. I guess I am caught up. I’ll just watch Sherlock again, drink a Wild Cherry seltzer, and smoke an Asylum cigar that my son Mike gave his Dad.