Despite my ruffled appearance and blah attitude, I'm not an auto-blogography slacker. Really and truly. I'm just a busy scumbag! I have all these thrilling, rivetting, panty-drenching posts just stacking up like flapjacks but I never get a chance to edit them, spell check them, post them, and relish them. If I'm not at work, I'm sleeping (you like to drink or cook or listen to tunes, I like to veg). And if I'm not at work or sleeping, I'm trying to have a meaningful relationship...blather. And if I'm not doing any of that garbage, I'm trying to see if I can drink my weight in beer and dance my pants right off. It's all a tricky process. I have a method. You've probably all abandoned me but I can live with that. You'll come back. You're like migrating birds.
I had a vacation and you'll hear about it. You can't even avoid it.
After work/bar/bad pizza yesterday, I crawled under a blanket on my bed, powered up the good ol' immitation Tivo, ripped open a box of Goobers and thought, "Life's pretty good right now at this very moment". I was comfortable and content and not stressing about anything inparticular. I think I could have slept for a century after that realization but I had to make the Cleveland to Garfield commute. It was worth it as I begrudgingly hosed off the filth of the day, created some new and improved filth with Puffin, and slept a solid 6 hours drafting. Life really is good right now. Do ya feel me?
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