Nobody knows why I'm so fucked up. The truth is, there's only a few people left in my life, that care.

And I won't say why, until someone looks me in the eyes and asks. This isn't blogable.

In the meantime, Skoge sent me an email about her friend that moved to Tahiti. She and her partner Grant were involved in the music business, back in the day. Here it is:

Lopes, He lives on one particular island. One night after a Jimmy B. Show, Grant and his girlfriend went to dinner on Broadway, SF. There was a bottle of champagne on the table in a bucket of ice. Jimmy walked in and sat down at their table, for no reason at all. “This is the table I want to sit at.” Since Grant was a sailor, too, he told Jimmy to go to this one particular island in Tahiti. Jimmy did go, met Bobby, a Polynesian who was Grant’s friend from the Haight-Ashbury (Bobby Holcomb if you go to YouTube). Bobby sang the Polynesian verse. And “One Particular Island “ became a song. Thought you might enjoy this story. The song was written on that island and that’s where our friend Gary lives. He married the daughter of the watermelon man, Poiama. Divorced now, but Tahiti is his home. You would love Tahiti. The food is French and the people are beautiful. The beaches are white, the water is crystal blue. Much better than Mexico, and the Paul Gaugain museum is interesting. Across the bay, a ferry ride, is Moorea. That’s where there is a Fruit Juice factory and they sell fruit liquor. It is delicious. Did you know that Tahitian pineapples are different than Hawaiian pineapples? They have less acid and are 2x sweeter. Sent from my iPad

I was watching a baseball movie with Clint Eastwood in it and the credits showed it was a Malpaso Production. I've been around a long time, and I know that's Clint's movie production company.

I also know the origin of the name Malpaso. I lived and worked in the Monterey/Carmel area back in the mid seventies, and Clint was the mayor of Carmel at the time.

Back in the sixties I was road tripping with a hot girl I had met bussing tables in a Tahoe casino and we spent a week on an amazing beach that could only be reached by a trail off the creek that flowed into it.

I learned later that Clint's ranch was back into the mountains a few miles from there, with Malpaso creek running right through it, emptying into the Pacific at the spot that I called Secret Beach.

Over the years I've taken friends, lovers and family there, and each time it had become less accessible. I'm sure by now it's closed off just to the expensive homes up on the cliffs.

Anyway, now you know the origin of Malpaso.

I used to love Calamari, and Escargot, back when I had teeth. Now they have the McGangbang burger on the secret menu at McDonald. There is no way I would try to stretch my toothless mouth around this thing. I love a good burger, but the options are limited.

I'm thinking about pulling the DoorDash trigger on that build your own burger, and splitting it with my buddy scrolling thru TikToc next to me. Problem is, he don't like sauteed stuff.

It's been a fun afternoon with my door wide open, 70°, hanging out with a crazy man. His phone battery died, thank god, and he emerged from a state of conspiracy theory photo and video emersion, to actually talking!

He wanted to settle a debt, with no means to do so. I told him what I wanted was for him to get his shit together, then settle up like a man, when he can.

I've just run him back to the spot I picked him up at this morning, a left off the back road, just past the car detailer guy, and a ways down the road.

Riley and Shelby! It's off the little road from that pile of old tires on our trip to the Park last Summer.

I'm sure glad the kids got down here to my little place, to see how I live. It's a quiet magical space, with highway noise nearby that you eventually use as background music to your life.

I was telling my buddy that after an amazing computer career in the seventies and eighties, where I made a lot of money, I crashed and burned in a field next to an apartment complex in Kent, WA, in the early nineties. Flat broke and the few possessions I had were stored on the back porch of Riley's moms second story apartment.

That was thirty years ago, and since then my life has twisted and turned, and I landed here. This is where I was destined to be, a quiet stoned little spot where I can document my existence.

It's a strange life I live, I have everything around me to keep me alive and going, barely, but I have no passion, so I just survive.

I wish I had a woman in my life. I'm lonely, I would love to have someone to talk about life with, not about aliens.

I'm real dizzy today, losing my balance. A buddy's coming over to roll a fat one and I'm hoping that will help. I'm on day three of a colon cleanse, not eating much, so I'm sure it's related.

There's a new burger joint in town called Daydream Diner. Last night I was putting together a build your own burger online, because I was starved. I like that approach, I can put things on there that I can actually eat. It was $10, plus $1 for sauteed onions and $1 for sauteed mushrooms, plus $5 to get it here by DoorDash. I left it in my cart, maybe today, seventeen bucks for a hamburger is something I'll have to think about.

Of course, I could also drive there, it's next to Walmart on the North side of town, and I'm running on that Free Gas, and the tank is still almost full.

I got a disturbing email today from my friend Skoge in Sacramento. She spent a week in the hospital with a BP of 220/198, it sounded like a horrible experience but she's alright now.

She told me that they have a friend in Tahiti that has Parkinson’s. He has NO cost. I could marry a Tahitian and let France pay for my care. Best suggestion I've heard in a while!

Daniel was trying to get my dander up tonight, accusing me of being wasted all the time. I asked if he was willing to pay for rehab but he ignored the question and kept on bitching.

Being quite intoxicated himself, it was comical. I do have a normal lonely life, a routine that starts when I roll my feet off the side of my bed early in the morning, thankful to be alive.

My daily goal is to take care of my place and accomplish all external chores by 1100.

Then I start getting wasted. It's my place and my life, I'm not going anywhere and I am bothering absolutely nobody.

There is some magic that occurs within me when I reach a certain state. I make no apologies for anything, I'm not hurting anyone, I'm just finding myself.

I've got the shakes real bad today. Some days my body is a vibrator from head to toe and it's too bad a Giant Woman's Society doesn't exist, I could rent myself out!

I've been watching a NetFlix series called The Resident, where the lead surgeon's hands are shaking, like mine. Not a good thing to have if your cutting on people. The solution is brain surgery.

That sounds wonderful, I'll pursue it! And just before I go under I'll tell them "Remember, if air hits the brain, it's never the same". Just in case I wake up as a still vibrating girl with altered memory...

I realized a while back that my main external drive sitting on the table next to my PC had been sucked up in the grab. The whole thing was turned into a gaming rig, with the drive formatted for storage. I hope they're having fun with it.

Unfortunately, my entire collection of digital photos and videos, my code, and everything else that was on that drive, is gone. The good part is that over the years I've curated all of it, and published the best over two blogs, Flickr and YouTube.

The originals to everything were also there, the source from which all my content came. What difference does it make if it's gone, I'm not going to adjust some old photo or re-edit a video!

All that PC had on it was a history that should have been erased anyway. I just found a smaller drive stuck away that had a bunch of stuff from Teton Valley, a decade ago, I'll call this my empty Tin Cup.

Well, I'm living up to my history of failing to vote in the Primaries. I knew yesterday it was Super Tuesday today, but when I woke up, I had forgotten. By the time I remembered, it was too late to drive there responsibly and perform my civic duty.

If Trump loses Tennessee by one vote, take me out in a field and hang me, I'll tell you to hurry up. As to the other items on the ballot here, I have no idea what they are.

I would actually be doing this State, County, and City a disservice by walking in as an uninformed voter and checking boxes straight down a party line. But I always vote in the Presidential.

So there, that's why I really don't vote in Primary elections, never mind that forgetting thing...

Modern human life exists as a scale of 0 to 99, where a 0 is the sad soul living on a cold big city street with absolutely nothing, not a penny, starving and dying.

A 99 has it all, the billionaires. And between the two is an amazingly relative structure of levels that change as they interact. Back in my early seventies programming days we called these Level Breaks, but I digress.

Your LSN (Life Scale Number), 0 to 99, defines where you feel you're at right now, relative to everyone else on the planet. We'll put Elon and the Saudis at 99.

The decimal, 0 to 99, defines your self esteem at the moment, changing often, it's your how the fuck do you feel about yourself number.

So I'll start it off, my LSN is 23.77. Far from 0.0, where I have been a couple of times before.

I'm living in a nice quiet little place now, stash running out, but still alive and creating a new number system.

My .77 self esteem number represents my levels. There were many moves I made in life that changed my direction, and I regret none of them, because I wouldn't have the ones I love, in my life now.

Self esteem involves integrity, and you have to factor it in from your beginning, to where you are right now.

Mine is damned solid now, just damaged, so 77 it is.

Here's my 23.77 world, with an empty chair:

The only person I talked to today was a good old boy who jumped out of Karen's passenger seat to give me a bag of DoorDash food. He thanked me for indicating I was a new customer on the left of the duplex, in my profile. They've been delivering to my neighbor on the right for a while now.

Very interesting way to make a living, Karen drives while her partner picks the product up, and delivers it. Meanwhile she's juggling the business and new orders on her phone, sitting behind tinted windows at the wheel of her little car.

If I couldn't blog now, I would go mad. It is my outlet, like Acid was in the Sixties. Like creating new computer code and concepts in the Seventies and Eighties was.

Blogging at the most honest level with the world gives me peace, knowing I've documented it. I can go back to any day of well over the past decade and see where I was at, who I was with, what I was doing and what I was thinking.

And on another level, I've documented my entire life, because writing about my past, shares the stage with my present.

My blogs have been my therapists, I tell them personal stuff so I can feel better, not expecting any, but hoping for, a little feedback in return.