Sick, doggy style.
Oh God, so sick, my nose smells like blood on the inside, or like I stuffed it full of rusted nails.
A couple days off are likely to go wasted now, since I just want to sit around and groan in that deep nasaly sick-voice. I was planning on maybe looking for a new job, maybe fixing up my car a little, and of course continuing to work on creating that image of the self-defeating, over-intelligent, antisocial and charismatic semi-working writer that chicks all want to love but won't.
The woodwork is showing a lot of fresh vacancies, as quite a handful of past contacts decided to coordinate their re-communcation efforts into a two week span. The typical awkwardness applies, like a paler version of bumping into that girl you almost married at the grocery store, five years after the rather bitter breakup. No one really wants to take responsibility, and the edges that were so sharp before are now smooth as a riverstone, no one really remembers the arguments. But maybe the edges are what gave what you had its special shape. New territory, I guess we will see what shakes out.
On a more personal tack, everything is so flat lately that I am worried that I might do something damaging and drastic just to mix things up and fire some of those neglected neurons that are constantly buzzing for attention these days. I'm getting old enough to start romanticizing my past. Wanting and missing things that maybe I never really had.
Enough self indulgence, I need some sleep, so I just downed a rainbow fistful of consumer chemistry, which will hopefully knock me into an unconscious world of memorable dreams.
Fuck man, all this entry needs is a haiku.
A couple days off are likely to go wasted now, since I just want to sit around and groan in that deep nasaly sick-voice. I was planning on maybe looking for a new job, maybe fixing up my car a little, and of course continuing to work on creating that image of the self-defeating, over-intelligent, antisocial and charismatic semi-working writer that chicks all want to love but won't.
The woodwork is showing a lot of fresh vacancies, as quite a handful of past contacts decided to coordinate their re-communcation efforts into a two week span. The typical awkwardness applies, like a paler version of bumping into that girl you almost married at the grocery store, five years after the rather bitter breakup. No one really wants to take responsibility, and the edges that were so sharp before are now smooth as a riverstone, no one really remembers the arguments. But maybe the edges are what gave what you had its special shape. New territory, I guess we will see what shakes out.
On a more personal tack, everything is so flat lately that I am worried that I might do something damaging and drastic just to mix things up and fire some of those neglected neurons that are constantly buzzing for attention these days. I'm getting old enough to start romanticizing my past. Wanting and missing things that maybe I never really had.
Enough self indulgence, I need some sleep, so I just downed a rainbow fistful of consumer chemistry, which will hopefully knock me into an unconscious world of memorable dreams.
Fuck man, all this entry needs is a haiku.