So in my current retiree lifestyle and all of the semi-sensational living it entails, I find myself again sporting my phantom walker before i shake it at the kids, what with my crumpets and daisies falling the hell apart and phantom yiddish expletives getting hurled hither and thither, as I consider if I could successfully rock climb my way out of this hole without actually setting anyone (especially myself.. on fire.)
You know what? new lows, and how much further south can we collectively go? we’ll fucking sort that out before the night is done together, aye tumblr? Everytime I come to tumblr the schizophrenia is getting it’s knobs polished. No and by that I mean most of these blogs.
You see while I have a ridiculous amount of time on my hands, and am both devoutly broke and bloodcurdlingly desperate & bored, and barring my latent desires of invading the local indoor pool to supplant suburban mothers and their spawn, I am not yet carafe’ing a plan to wear, show you, declare a single thought, or really even take my own blogging that seriously…is it a lack of commitment or can we just realize that writing a slick looking blog doesn’t really make you appear any slicker? there’s way more actually I have to say, I just have yet to decide that tumbling my serious thoughts is something I can take seriously.
Now if I could manage to enjoy this… I’d be getting somewhere…. But no, no enjoyment will be mine, it will just be a day spent in mock horror when I realize I’m part-giant fly and sporting a .02 attention span and can’t manage 5 laps at the pool without breaking into a pond-deep analysis of the socially engendered blindness of teenagers…. whereby I again realize that humanity has come to a literal fork sticking in the road, (on sale at bed, bath, and 30 steps beyond) that collectively we’re fucked, and I start imagining sensational suicides. A little too much febreze in the virgin mojito would do it and a highlighted copy of my blog - printed, colated, and in a panic about the overwhelming plasticity and my desires to hurl myself into a furrowed oblivion at the mere suggestion of another heart to toss onto my wearing a pickup-slint-stick dreams.
I was sincere once, and I think you were too.
and this too shall pass (but not quickly enough….)
