I might be more likely to accept the adventurous part of life if I was perpetually armed with a bullwhip and a Colt 45. Fedora optional. The daily grind known as living in the U.S.A. can be quite taxing at times (pun intended.) Some days, just rising from the bed and taking a shower can seem like a monumental task, never mind going to work and dealing with the public. Sometimes I think the public should just deal with themselves for a while. Let me take a breather.
It's Tuesday, which means I stayed up entirely too late last night, with the excuse of being able to sleep in this morning. I've already taken my medicine -- just a pinch between my cheek and gums and I'm ready to go -- and I've shared some silliness on Facebook. Oh, I ate a banana too. Exciting stuff. Now I am trying to pound out some thoughts that have a semblance of sanity.
Tonight there is an author event at the bookstore. This event is a perfect reflection of what currently passes for culture in this country: a book of selected tweets by two young hipsters, who barely have enough life experience to tweet about. But twits will tweet.
My own tweets look more like bleats upon the page. Oh, what's he whining about this week?! I had a Twitter account, but my angst must take the long form. Besides, I don't own a smart phone, and I don't plan to anytime soon. I'm proud to be the flip-phone guy. Scotty! Beam me up! There's definitely no intelligent life here!
My post will have to be a short one this week, since I feel the need to slather some peanut butter and jelly on some bread, and then consume. No hot pockets for this guy. Unless you count the pockets in these jeans. But if I didn't have any pockets, I couldn't play pocket pool.
OK. Bleating complete for today. Time to enter society and do my best to fit in once again. Calgon, take me away!