Passwords

I spend a lot of time hunting down my passwords. I’m on this site or that site and it seems I need a password in many instances. I tried to keep it simple. I have one password for my business affairs, and I have a different password for personal matters.

Somehow the situation has gotten away from me. I had to change a password ever so slightly here and there to fulfill the requirements of the site. The password required a number or capital letter, something stupid like that. My email was hacked once and I made a subtle change to my password to get the hackers off my back.

            Now I have so many subtle variations I can’t remember what’s what. I suppose I could make a password chart and hide it somewhere, but that’s evidence should I ever get robbed or violated in anyway. If I’m away from a site too long and I check in month’s later there’s a pretty good shot I’m not going to remember my password, so I find myself hunting down the password, resetting them, or answering questions about my childhood. So far I’ve remembered to answer the questions about my childhood correctly, but I foresee a day when I start to answer them wrong. 

Election Day

            I voted yesterday. I voted for Barack Obama and Joe Biden. I marked my ballot and said to myself, my guys. 
            A picture of Joe Biden’s smile flashed before me while I stood in the voting booth. What a bunch of rapscallions. I’d like to hang out with them. My team. You know they’re troublemakers when the cameras aren’t rolling, when they’re smoking their cigars and making fun of their opponents. I’d like to see that. I’d like to have a bourbon in my hand, while laughing at the expense of John Boehner’s hair, and his fake tan, or Mitch McConnell’s strange looking jaw and mouth. I’d like to see Joe do an impersonation of Mitch. Joe would make the funny mouth and jaw. We’d laugh. I’d sip my bourbon. Somebody would say “John Boner,” and we’d laugh some more. 

Back Pain

            I tweaked my back. It goes out every now and again. I don’t know if I injured myself while digging ditches, or sleeping. I’m beginning to think sex is bad for strained backs. It’s a risk verses reward scenario that requires very little thinking, at least I didn’t think about it much.

            It’s a strange thing sex with a bad back. Things slow down some. I was trying not to exacerbate the situation , but I seemed to forget all about my bad back at a certain point. I think that’s why sex is bad for backs. I lost my mind and senses and I forgot about the big picture. The picture became very centralized, and the only thing that seemed to matter was the moment. I was finally living in the moment, but now the pain is bringing up the past.