~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗧 𝟮:𝟭𝟵 𝗔𝗠

                      

I'm simply practicing self-deception (kidding myself) when I pretend I'll stop writing blog articles soon to drive ride-share in Houston.  Anyway, George Bush Intercontinental Airport requires Uber vehicles to display a special window sticker to even enter the pickup lanes at IAH.

As it is, this elderly self-fooler is "up" at 2:19 AM to spill a stream of consciousness offering on Google Blogger, anticipating readership as much as President Dumbfuck craves the Nobel Peace Prize.  Why can't our narcissist-in-chief be as cool as Dylan, who made the committee wait a year before he picked up his gold coin featuring the mug of Alfred Nobel for "creating new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition?" 

Actually, what woke me up was "Runnin' Scared," a song by Presley's favorite singer, Roy Orbison, playing in my head:  

"Just runnin' scared each place we go

So afraid that he might show

Yeah, runnin' scared, what would I do?

If he came back and wanted you"

Also triggering my insomnia was my constant reliving with regret the approach in a school hallway 61 years ago I totally mishandled by the most beautiful woman of my life, a black-haired Latvian whose family had been smuggled out of post-war Russia only to settle in the Green River Valley of Western Washington.  What gnaws at me the most was not just the physical beauty, but the graciousness and modesty displayed by this head cheerleader three tiers my better in social standing.  At 17, I was simply too socially inept to seize the moment.

My dreaming back then typically involved running through the fern-covered woods southeast of Seattle impersonating James Fenimore Cooper's Chingachgook swinging his tomahawk at attackers. (I never missed.)

With pure snobbery, I'll mention that it was at H.E.B. Plus, not simply H.E.B., where I ran into 37 year old Christian Diaz yesterday, the techie who's contributed a couple articles on fiber optics to this blog that I don't pretend to fully grasp.

"Did you ever post that article I sent you?" Diaz asked, letting me know he doesn't actually read my blog.  Candidly, I told Mr. Diaz that he might have to leave Brownsville to reach full potential, a move I suspect my two precocious grandsons will also make.

As my Uncle Joe used to say: "Hang loose!"