All my people are great dogs

Not Danes. Although I met a Dane. Not a meta-Dane. Well, actually, yes a Danish-American from Greenwich Village.

And all my dogs are great people. The question is, if you talk to your dogs a little -- like say "Fetch, Ringo!" no one calls you on it. Like, that's okay, even though no way in hell Ringo will fetch squat. But if you say "So guys, I think I'm getting a handle on this post-modern- and deconstructionism; essentially it's just a reaction to phenomenology and existentialism that's every bit as self-indulgent and un-disciplined as, say, Sartre or Schopenhauer were...and vague," then maybe you're taking the interaction with the dogs a little too far. I'm just saying.

Really there's nothing any wronger about it than, say, posting a blog that you know at most 2 or 3 of your family members and maybe one employee will read (God Bless you Both!).

And my dogs are really great people. Amazing people. I admire and respect them all. All have patience, fortitude. Some shit in the house. But so do I! I know, too much information.

So progress this week. I have not succeeded in taking a vacation. Far from it. The last two days have been so busy/frantic that I feel like my tongue is hanging out, dog-tongue-like, and my body aches (I feel old). But I have moved through some emotional stages it seems. From extreme lonliness/depression and, well, downright insanity -- through a period of grace in which there is no blinding affect, just the semblance of a "normal" succession of pleasant or unpleasant feelings near the middle of the scale --- to the last couple days, a bunch of anger. The F word popping out of my mouth un-bidden and inappropriate.
I have felt that I detest certain people, musicians I am playing with for instance. Not that they play badly. Most are great players. But I'm seeing the flaws and magnifying them. And I am practicing zero forgiveness. It's really pretty cool. For me. I mean, I can be pretty unpleasant/critical, but usually I cap the view off with the old AD dictum "If somebody is acting shitty, it means they're having a rough time themselves." An axiom. (Like it's almost-mirror image, if I'm pissed there's something wrong with me.) And I forgive, everybody, seeing their human-ness. The thing is, this wild anger that's spilling out recently feels like a kind of red carpet leading me somplace I need to go.
I AM angry. Need to feel it. Ditch it. Get on to the next thing, hopefully something more like the grace period with emotions varying and near the middle of the scale.
I thought about borrowing one of Frosty's guns and shooting out the streetlight at the extreme east end of Whispering Hollow. Really I don't need a gun though. I could just go take the bulb. There's nobody over there most of the time. So who am I mad at? Nobody really. I'm just scared. Seems like everybody I want to talk to is dead. And most of the folks that want to talk to me are annoying, really annoying.
So, thank God for how great the dogs are. I wish they knew how to make the bed. I don't mind doing the laundry.
But I can't make a bed worth crap.