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Entry date: 8-27-2023 – Someone Said, “Sunday Funday” – Letters to My Friends

Dear Friends,

There is a part of me that is opposed to the idea of “Sunday, Funday.” I don’t know why. For years now, I have felt guilty about doing a whole on Sunday other than my usual prep for the coming week. My beloved laundry, for example, and maybe cooking a nice, big meal that I can also eat during the week, too. That’s my fun.

Perhaps I am looking at it all wrong. Maybe the “funday” part is whatever you make it. My brain, though, always goes to getting that last little bit of partying in before the new week starts. I don’t like partying on Sundays, though. It riddles me with guilt.

True, I am mellowing a lot. I am getting to the point where I barely like drinking. Rarely, as of late, does the idea of a beer sound good to me. I’ve written a lot about my relationship with alcohol, and I have decided that I’m just going to go with the flow. If I feel like having a beer, I’m having a beer (or three). If not, then I’m not. I’m not going to let the situation dictate my actions anymore.

There are some situations where, in the past, I have felt like I had to have a beer because it was expected of me. Usually, I wanted to have one, so it wasn’t a big deal, but occasionally, I didn’t want to have one, but still did anyway. Anymore, I don’t think those things will come up. I think I’ll just do what I want to do. Anyone who cares about me isn’t going to be offended if I don’t have a beer with them.

How I got here from dismissing the notion of “Sunday, Funday,” I’ll never know. I do plan on having some fun today. I’m going to do laundry, make dinner, and watch Billions.


I crashed out early last night and it felt good. It wasn’t a long or particularly taxing day yesterday, but I guess I needed to sleep. The downside was waking up early this morning, but I just eased into the day.

There were no crazy dreams that I can remember, either.


I’ve been working on this riff lately that I really like. It’s noisy and fun and makes my acoustic guitar sound abrasive and angsty. I love making noises come out of it that a lot of people would find confrontational. Whether it will ever see the light of day is another story.


There was a sign.

It said words.

The words made me feel alone.

The words made me feel all alone.

But it’s just a sign.

I heard my brain say that.

It said it twice.

For emphasis.

For some emphasis.

I needed to hear it and see it.

I needed to play make believe.

Wrong way, it said.

Wrong way.


The sidewalk was bent.

There was no other way to describe it.

Not like a circle.

But more like it was old and ready to crack away.

I liked looking at it.

It was always there, but it wouldn’t always be there.

My eyes loved it.

So many places to wonder about.

What happened?


Who did that?

Where does it stop?

The sidewalk was bent.

It became a tribute in my heart.

It became a cause.

It became something it was not intended to become.

This thing was for my feet.

But it captured so much more.

This sidewalk.


Make a weird chord.


Make a weird chord.


Make a weird chord.

It’s dumb not to do it.

Make a weird chord.

Keep it up.

Make a weird chord.



Maybe Sunday is a fun day after all.

See you tomorrow.

It's been a pretty damn good ride.

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