I’m having one of those weeks. I know I talk about running away to that mythical tropical isle, (or that mythical sailboat so I can visit all the tropical isles) all the time. That’s sort of always running in the back of my head, 24×7. And you know, it could happen, I could just snap […]
I’m having one of those weeks.
I know I talk about running away to that mythical tropical isle, (or that mythical sailboat so I can visit all the tropical isles) all the time. That’s sort of always running in the back of my head, 24×7. And you know, it could happen, I could just snap one day and off I go.
But I’m having one of those weeks where it doesn’t have to be coconuts and tropical breezes. I’m having one of those weeks where just no fresh problems and no backlog of work and no fucking drama would be – you know, swell. Where just having a couple days all to myself sounds like the next best thing to paradise.
I don’t have time for details today. So let’s just summarize:
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Kids school. Headmaster drama. [shudders]
Work. Review time. Too much to do, no idea where to put my attention. Stress and panic all around me. Impossible schedules.
Money. God, life was so much simpler way back when we were all rich for those couple years around the dotcom boom. I keep thinking, one more pay cycle and I’ll have this wild animal under control, and then it breaks free again.
Home. I went on a clean-and-throw-away tear last weekend, and I got halfway and ran out of weekend, which means my house is all garbage bags full of un-sorted kids clothes and the kids rooms are both full of bins of unsorted toys. When it’s done we’ll have a radically much clearer house but meantime it’s a fucking mine field and I don’t have time to touch it; this means everyone’s stressed (is it only me that gets a charge from the chaos?)
Add that to the ever-present list of things to do (bills, laundry, general house maintenance, cooking, cleaning, workouts), and the list of things I wanna do (write, play, teevee, movies, resident evil, read), and I’ve got at least two point five days of stuff for every 24 hours hours of day.
Maybe if I just give up sleeping?
Please, dear Karl Elvis. Remember to BREATHE.
and because I’m feeling a bit froggy…. What sexual favor do you demand, sirrah? JK.
Perhaps…. it’s just the week that everyone is feeling pain. So weird… so fucking weird (as you know) and I’ve left out the good parts!
Give up sleeping? That’s crazy talk. Drink a lot, sleep a lot, let the house go. Keep Pop Tarts in the cabinet for the kids’ dinner.
Well, that’s what I do, anyway. Except for the kid part. But I understand that they can live on Pop Tarts for a while, at least. If they complain, take some time out of your busy schedule to teach them how to make popcorn (in the microwave, of course).
It’s not that bad, really. My cats have been gnawing on the same raccoon for a week. Or was that a raccoon gnawing on my cats?
Oh, well.
See, Whirly, it’s drink OR sleep. I drink, I pass out, I wake up, I don’t sleep any more. I used to treat that with amphetamines or cocaine, but you know, only back before the statute of limitations ran out.
But the only Poptart I’m interested in is Cherry.
I get ya on the not sleeping anymore, but now, thanks to you, and being a strawbeery (not misspelled) fan, I’m gonna lose sleep over Cherry Poptart.
Do you think she’ll love a mutant without any real powers besides an adamantium penis?
Adamantium penis?
You’re so fucking cool.
You got that right, bub.