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House arrest

The other day my garage door broke. I’m not very useful when things break, and even less so when somebody asks me for specifics, like why or how it broke. All I know is that I used to hit a button and the door would open. I hit the button now and it won’t. And the manual override doesn’t work either, apparently because when I break something I really break it.

So I’m locked in. Not a bad thing considering that my car is a….wait for it…a Toyota. This is what I get for not buying American I suppose. Depending on who you listen to, if I take my car out of the driveway I’ll either mangle myself or make the head of the department of transportation look bad. I just bought the car a year ago, and now if I open her up on the highway I may never be able to slow her down. Kinda like riding a wild horse. All in all, better to be stuck on the side of the road in an American car than shaped like an accordion in a foreign one.

I don’t mind house arrest actually. There’s no place I really want to go. I have my books here and my guitar and my legal pads and plenty of pens and I have a nice TV and it’s college basketball season so it ain’t like I’m being tempted by anything. And of course my girls are here. All 4 of them.

Recently discovered 2 great bands. You Me at Six and The Wonder Years. The music continues to fall down like hail. IPOD at 7000 songs and counting.

At least I don’t have to get up to go work for Toyota tomorrow. That would suck.

Not that I’d have a way to get there.

In a bit…


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