I Forgot My Shirt At The Water's Edge
How can I work? How can I work? It is Friday afternoon and I would rather eat my left eyeball than work. Lie! I would not rather do that. I would rather work. But I don’t feel like it. How can I work? I am listening to great music and the best kind of weather is outside (cold and sunny) and there are two days ahead of me that are making discreet promises to be fun, including lie-ins and meals at restaurants paid for by K’s birthday vouchers. Now that’s the kind of gift I like for him to get! Stuff where he needs a hot date! And I am ever so willing to step up.
Stig has gotten the sack. Not a surprise, he’s useless. Still, a half ounce of virtual sympathy is eking in his direction. He can’t help it he was born with those defects. Sorry you lost your job Stig. Now there is ever more time for you to write things on the internet that I can read. And more time than ever for you to watch the movements of that girl you met a few months ago in the video shop.
K has been nagging, a lot, for me to update. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW. I sometimes find a question more amusing when the question mark is omitted. The question mark was always omitted in the past, you know. It was only recently invented by some fellow from an Austin Powers movie. Before that, you had to guess about whether a sentence was a question or not. You could tell it was a question, I found, by seeing did it ask something. You gave it question status by increasing the pitch of your sentence to the squeal of a pre-pubescent girl towards the end. And that’s how things were done in the old days. How I long for those times. Now almost every written encounter is hampered by the chains of grammar. downwithallthatuselessshitforonceletsbefreetrulyfreeexclamationmark
I had lunch with a beautiful friend and it was mostly celery. I love you. I don't love your celery. And it is now repeating on me, like the Simpsons, only not good. Bad.
I bought most of my Christmas presents but I haven’t wrapped them yet. That’s a little ceremony I like to perform drunk. I find it gives my gifts the charming wrapped-by-a-child appearance. This is also when I write the cards.
That’s a nice one.
More later. I PROMISE.
neuro-praxis -- Deserves A Quiet Night