A Dead Blog is worse than a Boring Blog

We're just going to pretend that line is true tonight even though the reverse probably rings more True*.

I'm bored and, ironically, sober on a Thirsty Thursday. Haven't had a drink tonight (read: to lazy to stop at the store for drinks).
And tired.
Biggie J. called off today at The Bank, "my back is bothering me," is what the voice mail said; actually, it said, "my bbaghk ith buthrin me" because the guy speaks like his mouth is filled solid with wet gauze. So the day went fairly fast and smooth doing his job and mine. And everything got accomplished correctly and on time; thus, again pointing out to me that really, we don't need him HA! Of course, if they did let him go, I wouldn't be able to cruise online or go grocery shopping on the clock, so I guess we'll keep him around.

Really I'm going crazy. Sort of. When I'm not staring off into space, half awake, my mind is filled with what could be described as the music played here. Just mildly raging with anger contempt static noise violent scratching sonic jabs. I berate myself for allowing myself to have ended up at this moment of my life.

Where did it all go sour?

I should be drifting in an Amber Ocean tonight, but I am dry on land. Twisting in the mental breezes, getting slapped in the face with needled fern leaves and rough palm branches. Sand in my eyes, grinding my pupils. Stranded on an Island of my own Making.

Pathetic.

Where did the ship get off course? Fuck?! Did I ever really leave the dock?

Ah well. It, technically, being Friday now, hope everyone has drink on me, then ;-)




*we were wrong, a dead blog is more interesting than a boring blog. Apologies.

March(ing) with the black flag up

March 2008: WTF?

I'll let Henry speak for me for a couple of minutes.



It's been a soggy month in My Cube.

Car broke down for a week, walked to work.

I decided to stop seeing someone, still have to break it officially (the hardest phone call, well besides informing/being informed someone died). It wasn't really a relationship, per se, but it still sucks. I only sort of know what happened, I know how it started, I sort of know why I let it continue, but after coming back from Hawaii (stepping aside from the situation), it's like my head cleared. I did not want this. It isn't fair to either of us. It shouldn't have started. I should have broke it immediately when, upon the first or second meeting, she asked,

"Can I fuck you with a strap-on?"
"Um, no."

Mis-counted the meds, so I went halfsies for a couple of weeks. The silver-lining of which is now I know for sure, I need them. The Blue-haired Demons came back, clawing at the door and salivating for my blood. They never breached the barricades; but, damn, they made their presence known. The couch and sleep protected me from God-knows-what, and I drowned any who peeked their heads in my room at night with chilling amber. Then cowered under the covers for warmth.

But, their stench still filled My Cube's air. And now Chavo speaks for me:



And then, I get an email from my parents. They're breaking their Florida stay a month short and coming home. My Grandpa is (has been) dying. As of today, about two weeks to live. Now, the sad thing is, I'm more upset for my dad than the actual upcoming death of my grandpa. See, he and I differ on many values, but, shit, he is my grandpa, so I feel like hell not feeling....well, much.


But a re-fill of the Happy Pills kicked in just in time for my Wingman's visit from overseas. Ah, this is what I need. A couple of drunken nights out with a good friend (who needs to move his ass back here. For fuck's sake, drag that wife of yours back here by the hair!!! (just kidding Doctor!!!)). It was great as usual to see him, meet his friends, meet my friends, etc etc etc. [pics, hopefully, coming soon]

And then there's been work (mainly The Bank): I AM SO BORED.

[I'll update and add to this post later. I'm tired of typing now]