I guess it’s time to flip my office calendar over to August now. For six days, I’ve been looking at the mini-month in the corner rather than actually standing up and turning the page.
So it seems that, just as the nasty funk of the past month or so is starting to lift (maybe), I’m now coming down with a cold. Fine. I give up. I’m just going to sit in a corner with Irma and pout until the rainy season arrives. The hell with everything.
Don’t worry, though. I’ll still sneak out for Tuesday’s birthday non-event. But right now, all I want to do is go to bed, read my new White Castle book for a while, and then sleep for a very long time.
While I’m asleep, I will not think about the following:
- My long-term financial, geographic, or mental status.
- The fact that there will not be one single candidate worth considering in this year’s mayoral election and that we’ll therefore be stuck with Emperor Willie for four more years.
- The diseased lung I looked at while working on (irony of ironies) an anti-smoking website last night.
- Sex (or lack thereof).
- The asshole next door who has this tendency to work on his ugly orange convertible right outside my office window at all hours of the day and night.
- Ways to keep that miserable orange convertible from ever bothering me again.