luke 13:6-9

 6Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree, planted in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it, but did not find any. 7So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, 'For three years now I've been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven't found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?'

 8" 'Sir,' the man replied, 'leave it alone for one more year, and I'll dig around it and fertilize it. 9If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.' "

- - -

i think it's been 3 years, or at least 2 and counting...

- went to "deal night" held by redeemer's entrepreneurship initiative.  GULP.  time to wake up about what real business is.
- took out my drawing pad and planned to procrastinate.  bad habit.
- brushed my teeth at 3am only to eat cereal again at 6am.
- are capitalized sentence commencer characters too formal.  i suppose i think so.
- fever is gone but the back of my throat feels a bit raw.  if i had been playing NES or SNES back in the day, my throat is as flinchy as my left thumb fold.
- i feel and taste something vile in the back of my throat too.  is it just the flesh?
- i found out last week i am O+ blood type.

• Almost 40% of the population has O+ blood
  
• Patients with Type O blood must receive Type O blood
  
• About half of all blood ordered by hospitals in our area is Type O
  
• Type O blood is the universal blood type and is the only blood type that can be transfused to patients with other blood types
  
• Only about 7% of all people have Type O negative blood
  
• Type O negative blood is the preferred type for accident victims and babies needing exchange transfusions
  
• There is always a need for Type O donors because their blood may be transfused to a person of any blood type in an emergency

- tiff says she thinks she is B+.

- my unemployment payments are complete.  time to find work again.
- i don't want to be a drag to society.  but how do i willfully live for others at every moment.  i am selfish.  so are a lot of people, but that doesn't matter, i can only control myself.  or at least i'm supposed to; i don't feel like i allow for discipline and change sometimes. 

- it's time i go into my mind.  i walk in as the Me I am today, the Me I saw in the mirror a couple minutes ago.  I have to open the gate to our front yard.  Child Me is pacing around grumpily, dashing at the sandy floor with his  brown sandals.  I'm getting a bit sleepy but I have to take him in.  The child protests.  He is unhappy, feels very neglected, and knows that the summer afternoon of his youth has been wasted and baked stale.  There was no fun to be had in the cement front yard, only brooding like a simmering pot.  I have to make myself go through with it.  Neither the child nor I want to do it.  I have to tell him to reach into the back pocket of his little yellow swimming trunks and take out the lone key that is looped by an old bread twisty tie.  Dust off the lint from the inside of the pocket that has only been damped by your sweat and the last specks of sand from the last beach visit.  Yes, put it in, you can tip-toe up, good child.  Yes, mother is in the backyard still, has been all day, and maybe she is taking a nap, but now it is time for you to go upstairs.  Yes, today is Sunday, a special day for all the hard working families on the block.  The air is cold in the house, the bamboo board planks on the floor are smooth like marble, but not that cold.  Walk up the nineteen steps up, and avoid the creaky spots.  The sun is gone now, and everything is dark.  Be a good boy.  But, you ask, what do i need to do to be a good boy?  i do all my homework.  i eat everything i'm told to.  i am nice to all the other kids when we play out in the street.  but i don't like being alone.  well, i say, i'm not sure pal.  i came back to set you straight, to help the next Me, but i guess i can't teach myself a lesson i haven't learned yet.  i'm sorry buddy.  i'll come back again.  things will get better, at least that's what all the Mes think.  i'll be back.  just keep doing what you're supposed to.  i walk away a bit quickly, because it is a shadowy second floor with no illumination except for the orange street lamp directly in front of the house.  mother is watching television in the back.  the air is cold and none of the baking warm air from the day hangs around, it rather ride off with the proud sun.  the young Me is not happy, and he is not any sadder than he already was.  i have a film of disgust in my mouth and i spit saliva into the grass as soon as i exit the threshold of the house.  i know the young Me is curling up on top of the covers of his bed right now.  We shall take action some day.