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August 28, 2002 darkness is nothing
but the light turned offThe day starts like any other. It starts at night.
I waken in darkness and lie in bed, the room cold as a mausoleum. To piss or not to piss--that is the question I mull and refuse to answer.
Mull. Martin Mull. How did he make it as a comedic actor? He is not funny. But he's certainly funnier than that douchebag on Home Improvement, a sitcom I never watched, but feel confident appraising. What's his name? Ah, yes... Tim Allen. Every single person I've ever known is funnier than Tim Allen.
Darkness is nothing but the light turned off.
How did I end the evening? I remember the local newscast ending with the usual banter among the anchorwoman, the anchorman, the weatherman, and the sportscaster. tonight, like every night, they japed about the weather and how... Ha, ha... The weatherman is responsible for it. If the weather sucks, it's the weatherman's fault. If the weather is good, there's an unspoken consensus that every able-bodied woman in the Channel 7 viewing area between the ages of 18 and 60 should suck the weatherman's dick.
I shuffle to the bathroom as dawn breaks. On the way, I stop and peer through Venetian blinds. They rattle like old bones. I've got the Wellbutrin Shakes and it's starting to rain. I make mental note that our certified meteorologist will not be fellated this day.
Saturn has made a transit from my house and has moved into a duplex across town. I'm feeling better. I am right, now.
I am right now.
© 2002 by the beastmaster