Screw It

Alrighty. I'm done writing about that weekend, mostly because I obviously don't have the discipline to write about anything in a timely manner. I think I'll now make it a rule that I can't blog about anything that's older than two weeks, kind of like it's spoiled milk; no one would drink that (unless you have a cold so bad that you don't notice the smell) just as no one would read this crap unless you're so freakin' starved for written nourishment that you can't notice the difference between fresh milk and something so spoiled you need a strainer in order to notice that it, in fact, still contains some liquid. Mmmmm. Milk.

I just wanted to remember that weekend because life has been, more or less, kind of crappy since September, and I thought it would be a good idea to remember it during this three month long shit storm--one good memory surrounded by a ton of disappointments while I live a dissipated lifestyle in which I see no way to form the detritus into something cohesive and coherent. And I've written enough about it that I will remember it without having to write about the entire weekend. So, fuck it. Besides, I can't stand it when I have diarrhea of the word processor. I don't think anyone likes the drizzles.

That's all I've been feeling like, though: one long didactic drizzle of bullshit. Yay! What a happy blog!

Blow me! :)

I think I just told myself to fuck off. Interesting. Anybody else ever told themselves to fuck off?