Ugh

Dark morning, rain. Bastards below me and their fucking loud alarm clock keep waking me up an hour or so before I have to. I stomp on the floor to get them to hit the snooze bar. There's something psychologically necessary about me not getting up before 7 am. There's something psychologically necessary about me not getting up before 10 am these days.

An ashtray in my throat, and in the threads of last night's clothes. Several beers with Shanai at Porter's and I was chainsmoking. Good times, but I feel like shit. I should be waiting for the bus right now, but damnit I'm drinking my last goddamn cup of coffee first. Cult of Palatino 12 Pt, you can wait.

No sleep last night, which means that by tonight I'll be too tired to write. Which means I'll have a complex, which means I'll stay up late tonight freaking out, which means that I'll be too tired tomorrow to write, which means...

Could this mid-November grind be why I'm actually, frighteningly looking forward to Thanksgiving in Duluth next week?

Some good news: Dog's Breakfast was apparently written up in Punk Planet #63 and got good reviews. I still have copies, hint hint!!! Fun people have been writing me, including a nice boy named Sticky from Melbourne.

Okay, okay damn day, I relent.

Posted by jason at November 19, 2024 08:18 AM