Rabbit Punches
Didn't get to rearranging the furniture like I wanted, but I did mail out some bills. Financial responsibility - so crazy it may work. RAW was like watching a bunch of retards try to hump a doorknob, as the great philosopher Patches O'Houlihan once said. The saving grace was Joey Styles' commentary; hiring him's the smartest move that company's made in years. Went to sleep fairly early (for me), just too tired from the all-nighter. Woke up feeling like a Mexican toilet seat in cheap motel in a tourist guide, with a throat lined with sandpaper and a cold for which I wasn't prepared. The sore throat came from the smoking of cigarettes, the last of which were circa 7:30pm last night when I was in Hoboken. A homeless man there shared two cigarettes and his life story with me. Guy needed someone to talk to. I find that happens fairly often, people will start talking to me, sometimes out of the blue. My girlfriend said I could have a conversation with anyone. I never really gave it much thought. Anyway. Reset the Quitmeter starting with the time the train departed from Hoboken, just because. Thursday I'm going to have drinks with a bunch of writers and my girlfriend. These clownlickers are probably published. And they'll have savings account and furniture too, I bet. A friend of mine bitched me out for not listening to my voicemail. Thing is, I get 2-3 messages from credit agencies a day; that makes up the vast majority of my voicemail. So I put it off, and it piles up, and eventually when I do get to listen to it I have fifteen messages to hear, three or so real ones and the rest drooling clockwatchers mispronouncing my name and telling me I need to discuss "an important business matter" and all that shit. Whatever. So yeah, I should keep tabs on voicemail, so it doesn't pile up like this. Another thing I need to get into the habit of. Shit. Whatever. A better entry tomorrow. I'm sick. That's my excuse.