24 F Ate-teen

The metallic voice of the PA boomed & echoed thru the building … ‘Storm goal scored by number 24, Bill ST …

We won that game 4-2 against the leaders of the league at the time Allman Electric. The Electricans had bested us in the first meeting and we evened it up with this victory. Over the season their depth carried them while some tension and dissension over the season down-graded the Storm to a tropical depression.

Still longing … NO!! REMEMBERING fondly those Saturday nights. Of the BEST games, the BEST times was scoring a goal. Nowadays whenever I meet & am chatting it up with a player or former player, that is TOTAL agreement. Nothing like it. Scoring elevates ones value and status in the room and on the team.

So I slept in today. The campaign trail came to an abrupt end yesterday days before the primary.

WHAT?

You heard me. AND you heard it here first. The innermost circle has not yet been notified. They still think I am ‘working’. The FULL STORY follows.

ABOUT TIME … THE TRUTH I HOPE?

Of course. Someone once told me I was incorrigible. I still consider that a compliment. But you know me, I MAY have to abbreviate or truncate. Slightly. From time to time to ‘save time.’

HERE WE GO. FICTION COMING.

It was another of many days of raining, cold winds and our leadership team gave the order to report to the office early. The plan was to check the weather and decide who and then how many would stay inside and make calls or who would go into the field and electioneer (aka harassing voters) at the polling places.

Either assignment recalled Biblical verses and a conversation I had once with my sagely Uncle John who said we were all prostitutes. With this job, that resonated. I had become a whore or was becoming a white slave maybe even a mercenary for hire. Same thing. But I am digressing.

When axed, I wanted out & in the field.

But rewind back into the week, before hand, I had RSVPed to an invitation to a rally that night with Rand Paul sponsored by Phillip’s committee of which I was staff. I had taken a change of clothes as I expected my Taliban & homeless-looking functional layers would raise eyebrows at such an event.

Things were going well, Burke (my partner) and I were doing our job, alternating going inside the rec center to get warm, the banos, or to gather intel. Excitement is growing as 5:00 approached and then we received a group text that staff ‘CANNOT’ go to the rally and will report to the office to make more calls.

I first started mulling this over internally as I did not want to infect the impressionable Burke for we were in different life-positions. I did not need the money and to put up with the inclement weather ALL WEEK & AGAIN on this Friday to have the plan pulled at the last minute was an insult and the final straw. I am thinking this is the gratitude for lengthening hours, standing outside in poor conditions at best and making phone calls to voters trying to read a script over & over over other loud voices reading the same script or when you were lucky answering questions?

It was becoming maddening. Twice before I considered walking out but had no real reason. Now I did.

So I sent a quick e-note, a brief reply text message that 'I QUIT.' I was going to the rally.

Then I got a phone call and was informed ‘Rand Paul will be stopping by the office (Phillip's HQ) after the rally to Thank us for our efforts’. I wasn’t really interested (awestruck) at this point at all for it could have been another lie or the stuff lies were made of.

So I went to the rally. Which was uneventful. Paul gave a nice short talk, NOT a speech. Phillip’s was like leading a pep rally hollering issues to the screams & cheers of the supporters.

I promptly walked out at the conclusion of the shindig wondering the point of it all and walking away from politics and the campaign trail. It was dirty, filthy and I had better things to do.

So I woke up first this morning a free person. It was raining hard so I fell back to sleep. Two or three more times. I was in my own house, on MY time, MY schedule. I missed my life as it had been.

I made a plan eventually, started unloading Silver, laundry, breakfast, the estate tea blend and let things flow for there was so very much to do. I got an email from a lost friend. Moved out of Dallas. Always good to reconnect.

Wrapping up, there is or was a new, un-identified blip on the radar. A tiny, neon green spec on a black background with a pale white grid. Not sure what it is or anything. URB. It could be a blue whale, a flock of starlings or a brown ‘59 Ford station wagon. Maybe space junque. Flotsam. Fan mail from some flounder …

I must, MUST, MUST get off the caffeine AND get back on to a sensible eating schedule AND content. Others making and/or buying my meals is NOT at all in my best interest.

SO WHERE ARE YOU AT ?

Great question.

There is certainly enough material gathered in the past two-three weeks for a nice book with working titles such as 'Unhappy Trails: the FINAL campaign' by Bill. Or 'Politics: Y"

Everything else being DONE, equal and the playing field level, I much prefer crawling on the floor with GS1, aka Mikey, pulling those little child-protective plastic thingys out of the wall sockets and seeing what they taste like. Wondering if there might be a market for such things in grape or cherry, maybe orange flavors.

There goes the drier, time to shuffle loads and press forward until Mass.

Thomas Jefferson would get on the floor and play with his Grands all the time.

I must be doing something right.