There ain't no use of me workin' so hard when I got a woman in the bossman's yard.

  The first Presidential Debates are tonight and I am not watching. From what I'm seeing on Twitter, that's a good thing. Trump's doing his whiney rich boy routine, Joe Biden's trying to keep his patience, and moderator Chris Wallace is about as effective as a piece of wet newspaper is stopping a bullet. I've never been impressed with Wallace. He may be the best thing Fox has to offer, but that's like having the best double-wide in the trailer park. One's expectations must be adjusted.

 Like I said around the time the national conventions were going on, I've bailed on the bread-and-circuses aspect of politics, even before a limp noodle of a man is trying to wrestle down a drunken frat boy. From what I'm seeing, the Base is claiming Wallace is trying to help Biden or that Trump's peevishness shows just how macho and manly he is. Or both, if they can get away with it.

 I wonder if they'll bother with the other two. All day long, Trump and his worshipers tried to make hay because Biden wouldn't agree to a drug test or being physically checked for one-way radios in his ears. This is especially funny because it assumes Trump deserves to benefit of the doubt about anything, much less someone being doped up or trying to cheat.

 The cultists are saying their fears and worries will be settled if Biden just submits, but that's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. We're ten years away from it being debunked and eight from them seeing the proof, and these clowns still think there's something to Birtherism.

 Seems it's over or winding up, and I'm irritated just getting bits from Twitter. Very glad I didn't watch this mess. I still can't believe we live in a culture that thinks that guy is the epitome of macho manliness and an all-American alpha male business genius. He's a punk that's spent his entire life surrounded by yes men and stooges, all of whom owe their paycheck to keeping his ass properly kissed. And far too many of Our Fellow Americans like that. They love that. It's like teenage girls screaming at whoever the Beatles are at the time, they crave it.

 I've thought for a while that despite what we claim about "rugged individualism" or "independence," it's baked into the American Psyche to be a bit of a groveling crawler if the right master comes along. Guys who suck up to cops and lick the military boot call themselves "rebels" and "outlaws," when we treat our actual rebels like shit and put the outlaws in the ground. I love me some Willie Nelson, but he's not an outlaw. He's a singer. We definitely need to get some sort of grip.

 If you couldn't tell, I'm in a foul mood. I read somewhere that copious marijuana consumption retards the ability to remember dreams. Well, until I moved home, I'd maybe remember a dream once or twice a month. I haven't had anything to smoke in eight months, and I remember my dreams so well, I'm getting to where I don't want to go to sleep because they put me in such a bad frame of mind.

 I'm either fighting with my family, failing at some job to the point where everyone hates, or the worst, dreaming about some woman that I've never known. I'm cool with my family, though it's obvious there's still some anger and resentment there. As far as whatever job I've held, I've always prided myself on being someone that could be depended on, so it's obvious that strain wore on me.

 And I guess if I have to be honest, I'm a little upset I was never able to make the whole life partner romantic thing work like other people can. I'm not lonely or regret that I'm single. I like being unfettered, emotionally, or financially, to anyone. Part of it is I'm so self-absorbed, I would rather do it alone than do it in such a way that's not exactly like I want to do it. If that makes sense, but for example, when I travel, I like to ramble. I don't like set routes, rather go where the wind blows me. Not everyone's down with that.

 No one's been willing to put up with that shit nor has anyone ever got me to change my mind. And the only time this sort of blue sits down on me is when I have that dream. I've dreamed about this woman my entire life, though no dream has exactly the same woman. She is similar from one dream to the next and she does fit what I considered my "type." It's no one I've ever met or seen, though.

 I don't know why it depresses me as much as it does. I don't think of her except when I have these dreams. Anyway. It's pushing 11 p.m. Country Standard Time, so I need to wrap this up. What a world, man.