Egad. It's Holy Thursday. I need to go drink myself stupid. Hey, beats washing feet.
It's going to storm again. Rain tonight then we'll get tornadoes through Good Friday and Easter. My lawn is four foot high. I may pretend to mow it later. But I probably won't.
I should do this blog thing at three am. I'm smart, witty, and literate as hell at three am. By ten in the morning I'm useless, by five pm I'm comatose.
Oh. Helpful hint. If you are feeling blue, a little down in the dumps and maybe the weather sucks and you aren't sleeping well... don't read Cormac McCarthy. Jesus Christ. Just don't. I just burned through 'The Road' and "No Country for Old Men" and now I'm about two drinks from Hari Kiri. Thank God for Lent... and the fact that no one likes me and all my friends left me and I have no one to drink the traditional Holy Thursday case of Foster's with.
See? Happy as shit. Fuck You McCarthy, you fucking Irish barbiturate.
Why Lent? I gave up suicide this year. Not like last year. What a mess last year was. Still have dirt under my nails...