Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Been

Once again, I come to the conclusion that I do not need a pickup truck. Nor do I need a table saw, a drill press, a chop saw, or a shaper/planer. Not only do I not need any of these things, I have no place to put them so they would be out of the way. But the lack of need and space does not prevent me from wanting them.

Want. That is a strange emotion. If, in fact, that’s what it is. I suppose it is; after all, if you replace “want” with “desire” you have the same meaning. And desire is an emotion, isn’t it? Well of course it is. What, though, is the absence of desire? Is there a word for the emotion that fills the void left by the absence of emotion? The thesaurus does not help me with this inquiry; methinks the contractor responsible for the development and roll-out of the English language fell down on his/her job by failing to establish an antonym for want, at least one that satisfies the parameters I’ve set for satisfaction.

But, back to the truck and the accoutrements to fill the workshop I do not have. How is it that, though those items were on my list of “must have” when we considered moving to the Village, the house we selected does not have the appropriate space to accommodate them? What nincompoop allowed that oversight to occur? That would be me, I suppose. Such is life. Speaking of nincompoops, I spent all of five minutes on a “town hall” call with Senator Tom Cotton tonight. I had other things to do, so I did not press “star-three” to join the line of people who wanted questions answered. But the time I spent convinced me the questions were screened with some care, ensuring the telephone town hall did not present the Senator with discomforting questions. Based on what I heard, he used the town hall as a campaign rally to stoke the fears of his base and to attack President Obama. I hung up, wishing I could have spoken to the man directly. Though all that would have done, I am sure, would have been to cement my belief that he is spineless, self-interested, snake. I do not like Tom Cotton and I believe with all my heart that he does not give a shit about his “fellow Arkansans.” He is in the game for Tom Cotton. Solely.

Did I slip away from my lust-fest for trucks and tools? I believe I did. If you, whoever you are, read this post and decide you absolutely MUST do something to address my ennui, let me tell you how to accomplish that objective: provide me with: 1) a pickup; 2) a table saw; 3) a drill press; 4) a chop saw; 5) a shaper/planer; and 6) a legal way (that avoids jail time and/or execution) to remove from our lives the so-called President, all of his henchmen, and the obscenely partisan politicians of both major party stripes , allowing me to replace them with intelligent people whose goals are to make life better for all humankind and the planet and creatures upon whom we depend.

Speaking of delusional. I have not been watching the pretender-in-chief and I don’t intend to. The man lies more reliably than he breathes; I wish he would do less of the latter…much, much, much less.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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