Yes, I wear the pants of The Man
Oh yeah, you know. When in Rome.
So, yes. I wear company pants, that's true. Even worse, they are not sized for me. They, like most of the planet, falls too short for a tall Pouncer. This is symbolism. I drive a big, big truck because I learned how to drive the Excalibus through sheer dangerous will. I think learning how to drive a bus took a few years off my life, so I am determined to retire a bit early. How about that!
I drive a truck, and I play that sweet sweet music for them that wants to hire me on the weekends. The Beatles and I, we work eight days a week. And we loooOOoOOooooVe you. Eight days a week. Normally I just go pouncing around and don't write anything down, but today; hey, that's special! Today was hard. I ate shit from both of my jobs. Nothing spoils a day like a professional mouthful of poo. And on days like this I remember why I spent so many years self-employed; though I be broke and bedraggled, at least I only have my own standards to measure up to!
I'm kind of sad I don't know any of Lizzie's friends. In fact, I never really got to spend that much time with Lizzie at all. Always a near-miss. Lizzie, let's hang out sometime.
Allie is off doing her last tryouts. I wish her lucky leg-breakings and all of that. But also, I secretly counter-wish that she remains unattached to a bunch of projects for a little while, because as of this moment we see each for about 20 minutes a day when either of us are completely awake. I spend more time hearing her breath while she sleeps than I do talking to her. I can keep my head to the grindstone for a while and not worry about that sort of stuff, for both our sakes. But I sure do miss a slower pace sometimes! And, for the first time in years, I am working a schedule so physically taxing and mentally dulling that my outrageous sex drive is slowed to a warm churning crawl. So strange.
Well, T.M.I.! But I guess that is what a journal is for, huh?
So, yes. I wear company pants, that's true. Even worse, they are not sized for me. They, like most of the planet, falls too short for a tall Pouncer. This is symbolism. I drive a big, big truck because I learned how to drive the Excalibus through sheer dangerous will. I think learning how to drive a bus took a few years off my life, so I am determined to retire a bit early. How about that!
I drive a truck, and I play that sweet sweet music for them that wants to hire me on the weekends. The Beatles and I, we work eight days a week. And we loooOOoOOooooVe you. Eight days a week. Normally I just go pouncing around and don't write anything down, but today; hey, that's special! Today was hard. I ate shit from both of my jobs. Nothing spoils a day like a professional mouthful of poo. And on days like this I remember why I spent so many years self-employed; though I be broke and bedraggled, at least I only have my own standards to measure up to!
I'm kind of sad I don't know any of Lizzie's friends. In fact, I never really got to spend that much time with Lizzie at all. Always a near-miss. Lizzie, let's hang out sometime.
Allie is off doing her last tryouts. I wish her lucky leg-breakings and all of that. But also, I secretly counter-wish that she remains unattached to a bunch of projects for a little while, because as of this moment we see each for about 20 minutes a day when either of us are completely awake. I spend more time hearing her breath while she sleeps than I do talking to her. I can keep my head to the grindstone for a while and not worry about that sort of stuff, for both our sakes. But I sure do miss a slower pace sometimes! And, for the first time in years, I am working a schedule so physically taxing and mentally dulling that my outrageous sex drive is slowed to a warm churning crawl. So strange.
Well, T.M.I.! But I guess that is what a journal is for, huh?