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My sleep schedule just got very screwed up. I slept almost 12 hours yesterday (today, whenever), not waking up until 10:30AM. Now it's 1:30AM and I'm bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Argh.
I spent the day feeling dopey and sleepy (and man were they pissed about it.) It's led to very bad jokes, so I think you should send help.
I was blaming oxycontin as the culprit for the all day Fog Fest, but I think it has more to do with fighting off a cold. (A battle I seem to be losing, btw.) Last Monday at Thanksgiving I heard Oliver's girlfriend say that she had a cold - as if her mighty efforts to hack up pulmonary lining weren't a clue - so I tried to keep my distance, but I think she got me anyway. Dayum.
Now playing on the Nature Channel: Noble Island Monkeys 8. Apparently there was a recording of Noble Island Monkeys 1-7, and I missed it. This is probably going to put me into therapy (again), you realize that, don't you? How much loss am I expected to take before I crumple like a little origami crane? How much?
I should note that the info for this track states that the artist is Barry Krause. Now really . . . unless that's Barry doing his very best imitation of a Sumatran monkey, I think he's taking some undue credit for this particular work, wouldn't you agree? I mean, those monkeys have a very legitimate grievance if they ever want to take him to court over this. I believe a C&D is in Mr. Krause's future. And probably a COD package of imported monkey shit if he doesn't change his plagiaristic ways.
You know, I have some weird stuff in my bedroom. I spy with my little eye (the left one, right eye no worky) about a half dozen high grade face masks, a Star of David slinky, a small plastic baggie of debrided skin (don't ask), and a bottle of dry gas. Somehow I don't think Martha Stewart would approve.
Non Sequiturs 'r' Us. I'm gonna open my own store. Right next to the other stores I think about opening. The Theology Shop: All Your Gods Are Belong to Us, wherein I basically just sit on a stool and schmooze about what little I know about world religions to anyone foolish enough to wander in. I will, however, also have several camp chairs and a Mylita coffee filter pot thingie to provide a more welcoming atmosphere. Then there's the enterprise dearest to my heart - the Underachi vers C ub which must be set up directly across from or adjacent to the local Junior Achievement club, and I'll sit outside on a chair or stool that must have a missing leg, and I'll spend the day lazily reading obviously used books and listening to a radio station that is mostly static.
But for now, I believe I shall try to fall asleep. As you probably have by now. But see how my ego propels me onward in the vain belief that I still have an audience? My ego rules! (In the service of absolute honesty, I must tell you that twice I typed that as "eog". I must also tell you that I've fallen in love with that typo and hereafter my ego's name will be Eog. And in the movie of my life it will be played by a muppet of some sort. I still have to work out the details.)
I spent the day feeling dopey and sleepy (and man were they pissed about it.) It's led to very bad jokes, so I think you should send help.
I was blaming oxycontin as the culprit for the all day Fog Fest, but I think it has more to do with fighting off a cold. (A battle I seem to be losing, btw.) Last Monday at Thanksgiving I heard Oliver's girlfriend say that she had a cold - as if her mighty efforts to hack up pulmonary lining weren't a clue - so I tried to keep my distance, but I think she got me anyway. Dayum.
Now playing on the Nature Channel: Noble Island Monkeys 8. Apparently there was a recording of Noble Island Monkeys 1-7, and I missed it. This is probably going to put me into therapy (again), you realize that, don't you? How much loss am I expected to take before I crumple like a little origami crane? How much?
I should note that the info for this track states that the artist is Barry Krause. Now really . . . unless that's Barry doing his very best imitation of a Sumatran monkey, I think he's taking some undue credit for this particular work, wouldn't you agree? I mean, those monkeys have a very legitimate grievance if they ever want to take him to court over this. I believe a C&D is in Mr. Krause's future. And probably a COD package of imported monkey shit if he doesn't change his plagiaristic ways.
You know, I have some weird stuff in my bedroom. I spy with my little eye (the left one, right eye no worky) about a half dozen high grade face masks, a Star of David slinky, a small plastic baggie of debrided skin (don't ask), and a bottle of dry gas. Somehow I don't think Martha Stewart would approve.
Non Sequiturs 'r' Us. I'm gonna open my own store. Right next to the other stores I think about opening. The Theology Shop: All Your Gods Are Belong to Us, wherein I basically just sit on a stool and schmooze about what little I know about world religions to anyone foolish enough to wander in. I will, however, also have several camp chairs and a Mylita coffee filter pot thingie to provide a more welcoming atmosphere. Then there's the enterprise dearest to my heart - the Underachi vers C ub which must be set up directly across from or adjacent to the local Junior Achievement club, and I'll sit outside on a chair or stool that must have a missing leg, and I'll spend the day lazily reading obviously used books and listening to a radio station that is mostly static.
But for now, I believe I shall try to fall asleep. As you probably have by now. But see how my ego propels me onward in the vain belief that I still have an audience? My ego rules! (In the service of absolute honesty, I must tell you that twice I typed that as "eog". I must also tell you that I've fallen in love with that typo and hereafter my ego's name will be Eog. And in the movie of my life it will be played by a muppet of some sort. I still have to work out the details.)
