and it's not insomnia.
it's just that i'm tired and wide awake.
aw, shut up.
so here i am.
in my kitchen.
with nothing to say anymore.
when i lay in bed, i compose the most glorious monologues, scripts, poems, stories...
and as soon as i reach for a pen or a keyboard--POOF! They're gone.
i need to invent that thingy.
the one that'll record your thoughts for you.
yes, i'm that lazy.
this morning while i was in the shower twin B decided to open the window and climb out it, onto the front porch, retrieve the newly delivered milk and put it away for me.
what a helpful lil varmint.
oh, and of course the window was left open, cuz they're strong enough to open it, but it always gets stuck.
it was no more than 4 degrees outside.
now he has a cold.
of course, as fun as it would be to blame that on a few minutes in the cold...
it's more likely from the snot nosed little shits at the gym.
i swear to all the gods of this earth or any other!
i take them there=they get sick.
i keep them home until they're well, take them back for a few days, and they're sick again.
i know, it's winter, they're kids, it's life.
YOU'RE not the one whose life it interupts.
i live in a delicately balanced world of schedules, habits and...well, slothfulness, actually.
it's an odd combination, but it works for me.
what the fuck is wrong with my furnace?
did it catch Kat's household virus???
It keeps turning on but stopping before it blows air.
it gets all poised and ready to spring into heat producing action--pilot light is lit, fan is humming...then it stops.
is my furnace a premature ejaculator??
or is it agoraphobic, perhaps?
or maybe it just needs its ass kicked.
let me go attempt that... hold on.
oh, don't give me attitude, what the hell else do you have to do?
it's one in the frigging morning.
you're sitting there in your pj's, the ones with the hole in the crotch, munching on stale chips and drinking cold coffee, wishing you could find a good free porn site.
you can wait a god damned minute while i fuck with my furnace.
you can take a flying leap.
or piss up a rope.
or play hide and go fuck yourself.
or play in traffic.
or go watch Traffic.
or go direct traffic. (i'd put a robe on, if i were you)
so anyway, hold the fucking phone.
i'll be right back.
i was gone longer than two seconds.
but i don't know why i'm worried about it, you would never know.
but at least i got the piece of shit moving again.
it just needed a little "my foot in its ass" enema.
i just realized Fantasy Friday is upon me, and i have not remembered to write a fantasy.
i guess i'll go work on that.
oh yeah, and will someone remind me to find a new hit counter thingy??
i keep forgetting.