in the past five days i’ve done things i shouldn’t have done, done things i didn’t think i could do, done things i’ve always thought about doing, and never really done enough. it’s all a whirlypool of mashed potatoes sans black pepper.
so now i’m full of shrimp scampi, three (four?) mugs of coffee, and a small bowl of where’s-the-curry-already clam chowder. took six hours (SIX. FUCKING. HOURS.) to get home on sunday. minus the knee cramps, general malaise, sore throat, puffy eyes, and absence of decent sustenance (so okay, maybe i shoulda had a piece of grease pizza), i got side-smackered with several unexpected insights into my own head. which ultimately led to the conclusion that i’ve tired of self-analyzation and musta put all that on the back-burner and thus, in turn, blanked on the analyzation of anything within my sphere. which explains the massive absent-mindedness that’s been biting me in the arse of late. i don’t need a vacation actually. i need to go somewhere else permanently instead.
right now, given that the outer rims are, like, y’know, out there, i’d like to settle for vegas. because it’s been the best fun i’ve had in a long, long while.