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An interesting sequence of events has contributed to my present illumination. Perhaps as few as three days ago I was in an uncontrollable fury. Less than 2 days ago I was questioning my job and its impact on my life – as I had a back-to-back grueling nights – one at the Casket and the other at the Stone – followed by a dud night in the Plow – the upper and lower end restaurants at the Ranch – the high end resort that houses 2 of my jobs - $1000 per night for a room – the most expensive in the continent.

Anyway … [I’m suddenly realizing that my Writer has been avoiding present times altogether in his obsession with the Breakdown – combined w/the Great Ordeal – the most intense, physically strenuous, mentally convoluted, emotionally draining experience of my life. Hopefully never to be repeated. Amen.]

But I survived and now – as of this moment – I’m thriving. Not to say that things could reverse in a day  - an hour – an instant. But I feel real stable right now- and that’s all that matters (Of course this too shall pass.)

 Have been producing on 3 fronts:

• First – editing & condensing Butter on Table Seven – a major breakthrough in understanding its nature (related in the June 25 journal entry – art vs. wisdom) –supposedly compiling it for Ron, one of its real life characters.

• Second I’m putting my Science to bed. “Help!” – “Please!” – “Don’t forget us!” – “We’re important too.” –  “Hey!” –  “Yelp!” – Scream, squirm, squiggle. My Notebooks are constantly tormenting me with their aggravating and persistent chatter. So finally, to silence their incessant bleating, I’m putting them up in chapterized form on my Website for the Internet – the electronic net that connects up the entire computerized community. Big breakthrough here also, as a major reorganization is underway. (See the July 29^th journal entry). No science yet – but that’s coming as sure as the Great Fire at the End. The yelps from that front have risen to a shrill frenzy – which I can’t ignore much longer. When that one blows – it's going to be a geyser – which will affect all phases of my Life – says my Writer, for dramatic appeal.

A major exaggeration. It’ll probably just be a tiny ripple – with limited impact on our Person’s creative life.

 I disagree. When it comes – mark my words – it’s going to be big.

You’re always so dramatic. How about a medium sized impact or medium well?

Don’t you think my meat is over cooked? I ordered it medium rare and would like a new one, thank you.

No fuss – no muss – no animosity. Business taken care of. A new piece of meat is cooked replacing the old & everyone goes away happy – the way I am right now.

• The 3^rd project, of which this is probably part, is my Breakdown Book. I’ve already collected some 10,000 words from the journals. Need only 70K > 90K more to be a novel. Have probably some 10K already on my computer – ready to go – and another 10K like these scribbles – waiting to be transcribed as journal entries for eventual inclusion in the Breakdown – as a 1^st hand account.

So today’s 1^st hand account is that I’m at peace with my strange predicament presently – right now – this evening – not this morning – maybe not tomorrow morning – but probably – maybe not – Sunday morning, as I work the Casket on Saturday, the Stone on Sunday, and the Plow on Monday – 3 shifts per week at 3 different restaurants. Whoa! What an excruciating trial this transition has been. Don’t think there hasn’t been any self doubts combined with mental cross-examination.

“You got us into this predicament, you dunce. I can’t believe we’re working in three restaurants.”

“It wasn’t my fault. The Pothole was in the Road. Besides this has given us meaning & purpose.”

“I’m not buying it. You were lazy – not paying attention – and took a wrong turn.”

“Not taking the blame. The car veered into a pothole and popped a tire – an obstacle has presented itself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Me? I think I’ll sit here and write poetry – hoping that someone will come by & help out. Waiting patiently as always for a solution to present itself. As to be expected we are miles from nowhere with no tire shops in sight. I have no idea where the jack is & I wouldn’t know how to use it if I did find it. I am fairly useless, you know. Forever in the midst of this self-examination stuff. Have even turned it into an Art form. Drama – excitement – the personal.”

“On the way to nowhere & something happened. I don't know what it is. Do you, Mr. Jones?”

“I have some ideas.”

“As always, Mr. Blabbermouth is filled with ideas. Nothing practical, just millions of useless thoughts. I wish we had a penny for every word he’s written. We’d be millionaires by now. But instead just a big Goose Egg – Zip – Nothing – Nada. And I’m pissed. I need some assistance. I can’t do it all by myself.”

“I would love to help out but … Help, someone! Call the Police! They’re beating my poor feet with their nightsticks. It’s so hard to walk. I think my arches have been damaged. My root is broken – addling my Brain. Please, Officer, make them stop! Wait! Something’s wrong with this picture. You, the police, are the ones beating my feet. Aurgh?! Poor me. What can I do? Such corruption. So much injustice.”

Or instead is it the smithy pounding the red-hot sword on his anvil?

And she cries out, “Stop! Make them stop. It’s hurting me.”

“Don’t be a baby. You’re becoming tempered – breaking down the scar tissue – shattering the corrosion that is preventing the free flow of life and energy from beginning to end.”

“Aurgh!?”