Yeah. I coulda shoulda been there tonight.

Eek. Poor Justin goes into the lair of the [political expletives deleted] tomorrow. Maybe the organization will have a meltdown when exposed to glorious music. Maybe I'll dream about it tonight.

I used to be good. Living to my potential was not anything about which I thought because I wanted to be creative and helpful. I was always anxiously engaged in a good cause, and loving every minute of it too much to really think about it.

Then, I became rotten somewhere along the way. I rebelled. I broke commandments. I literally shut-off inspiration. Now, I'm on this treadmill working 17.5-18.5 hours, seven days a week, getting paid to be wrong because that's how somebody else defines his success. I eat gas station food. I let the dog kill my back, claw my legs, and deafen my ears as I wrestle her, and she goes ballistic at guests and passersby; but she lets me share part of her bed for a pillow at night. I avoid a stalker who likes to share the dirty designs he has for me. I tell myself it will be time to go live in mom's basement when I'm dining at the pig trough. I laugh at the thought of potential. I keep saying I'll get it together tomorrow or some day, but then I lose my temper, ask why bother, and stay in the dumps for another 24-hour shot.

Now, what if I were to study to bring my English and math up to Common-Core standards, maybe I could get a good job packing groceries somewhere. Then, I freak out just thinking about how those kids must calculate distributed loadings in accordance with best practices. They must eyeball massing, size up customers to know how to arrange things for optimum carrying in light of forces likely to be exerted. They must be sensitive to all cultures. And then, at the end of the day, they must fill out a couple hundred pages of reports documenting compliance with corporate goals for continuous improvement. Shallow me used to get mad when I'd go somewhere and the clerk would turn her back to talk on her cell phone for half an hour. I didn't realize all the high-scale analyses these chicas were performing on their Smartphones - sizing up my profile, updating inventory requests in accordance with realtime changes to global paradigms - all the while relating to one of my ilk - or lack thereof - by making me think she was talking about who's on "Dancing with the Stars." Sigh. I'm lucky I'm not under a bridge with my fellow riff-raff.

That photo thing August 5 could be cool. Could it get me out of jury duty?

No. In North Carolina I think they pay $18 a day - at least that's what it was the last time. Some employers provide compensation, but mine doesn't. I hope everybody behaves and gets plead off or something. Now, the photo event would pay more than the job, even if it required me to go buy an expensive camera. But I shall pass. Free tickets are nice, photography lessons would be nice, but turning a Moodies concert into work isn't where I'm at. Justin would look in the camera and I'd drop it, etc.