Feeling unknown and you're all aloneFlesh and boneBy the telephone

Thanks for all the engagement congratulations from you readers.



In turn, I have to apologize for my blog neglect.



I have been playing, literally, 3 - 9 hours of guitar per day. I have been working on that traveling sketchbook art project.



I have become proficient at the drums.



I have been making money, hand over fist, in ruthless fashion.



I have a hernia.




I have tickled upon the practice of law for some friends and connections. It's weird how you never really stop being a lawyer. It's like the mafia. Just when I think I'm out, they ... drag ... me back ... in.



I wish I could have told you that I got my hernia having some wild jungle sex.



Or maybe that I rolled out of a moving car, because the man was on right my ass, and I had a warrant out.



This blog is NOT all there is to my life.



You would be sorely mistaken if you thought that.



For one, I am laying down some serious shit in my Beat Laboratory. You can't hear that. In fact, you have no idea.



I am thinking about a subtitle for the Beat Laboratory.

Boogie Station



I am also thinking about a subtitle, or perhaps some kind of prequel for the Beat Laboratory/Boogie Station.

The Funk Cave.

That gives me the flexibility to mix and match.

Funk Station or Boogie Cave.



I'll probably install a pole, so I can slide down to the garage without having to bother with the stairs.

And it would be handy for all the stippers hanging out here.

That's how I got my hernia!

Men's night at the strip club.



I was upside-down, arms extended, back arched, suspended six feet above the stage, with only the friction of my thighs to hold me.

I better stop this before you get too turned on.

I can't aford a scene with paparazzi, escpecially since I just became a lesbian.



Peace out.



I won't see you for a few days. I am going to see Willie Nelson Friday. UH, that'll suck worse than homework.

I should have changed the fucking lockI would have made you leave your keyIf I'd have known for just one secondYou'd be back to bother me

I know that my maturity level, lifestyle, sense of humor, hobbies and interests are those of a nineteen year old. I snowboard all the time. I kayak. I love to party. My life revolves around "Fun." For crying out loud, I have a room in my house I have dubbed, "The Beat Laboratory."

But yesterday and today, I really, really, really feel middle-aged.

Why, you ask?

About a month ago, I got up at 3 in the morning to pee, in and of itself a neon, flashing billboard that screams, "MIDDLE AGED!!!"

About three steps into this journey to the bathroom, I felt a stabbing pain in my lower left abdomen. It really hurt. I thought, "Wow. I pulled a muscle walking to pee in the middle of the night. What the fuck?"

I did my business, ignored it and went back to bed. It recurred in weird situations- bending down to tie my shoe, when I would twist to the side and pick up something heavy, things like that. I ignored it, figuring it would fix itself. This is par for the course- I don't really ever go to the doctor. I cracked a rib and slightly separated my shoulder last year, andthat was the one time I went to the doctor in the last five or so years.

Well, it didn't fix itself, and the stabbing pains continued. I had a phone conversation with the friendliest retired doctor I know, and he says, "You have a hernia."

"What?!"

"Lay down."

"O.K."

"Poke your belly button. Is it like you're pressing a balloon in and out?"

"Uh, yeah. And it's kind of cool."

"That's a hernia."

I go in for a surgical consult tomorrow.

Yes, I got a hernia walking to pee at 3 a.m.

If that's not middle-aged, I don't know what is.