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Another bleary-eyed late night on the clock. 84 miles and three days from my own pillow. I know, Boo... Hoo. Plenty of the world's most lame magazines to output, so there's no lack of stuff to do. How'd you like to be putzing around with a 300 page radiology rag at 1AM? See what I mean. Motivation is of the essence. Essence=Gas. This is not a "gas." Plus, my horns are scraping the ceiling. It is obvious that there would be no place for me in a monastery, unless beer-making was involved. No wonder the Benedictines seemed more well-adjusted. Summer or not, I'm gonna have to start wearing a beret again, so's my brain won't explode. Hope there's no full moon, anytime soon. Time permitting, I might take a drive up to the tattoo parlor in Leesburg, tomorrow. Somebody told me about a monkeys-in-fez's sticker that I should have. That's me, alright. I've got an idea for some ink, also, that I can ill afford. Maybe it'll be like accupuncture... getting jabbed in one place will take off the pressure somewhere else. Damn your logic, Spock! Better find some more live music... STAT. Or pray that I don't sleepwalk, tonight. |
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