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so load up and keep marching : It's not that I'm not sympathetic. I question everything. Not because I'm a doubting Thomas, but because I'm Spock. My sister always called me that. I want to know why. IF I don't get it, why you feel how you do or think what you do or something I'll question you. I probably should have a handy lab coat in my back packet, to slip on so people can tell it's the need to know WHY in me asking => not just a heartless streak that wants to inflict pain by questioning your feelings. But hey, no body's perfect.
I'm already not wanting to go to work. See I woke up to amillion little screaming parts that went on strike and were forced back into service under threat of death. I'm kinda worn out. I guess it takes a couple of days to hit me, before I fully hit the fatigued state where my muscles can no longer feign ability to go along with my brain. I'm not mean and evil, it just takes me longer to get plum wore out than others. Sure we were there and doing the same thing at the same time but you're all done in and I'm marching on. Because I can. I can keep going for another day or so. Then I'll pay for it. This is why I find the rules about exercising so screwy. I won't pay the next day for what I did it's 2 days later I'm feeling it - y'know that time when you're supposed to be doing it again. It's by that time I'm thinking nah. Ain't happening.
It's really warm in my room. I sleep right under the totally wide open window so I
know it's been pretty warm all night. I'd rather layout and have a nap then go to freezer world and all that talking. I'm taking my socks, and my coat, and wearing long pants - I hope not to pass out form heat exhaustion crossing the road. I'm so going to get some corona. When it's really warm I always want a beer. It's a childhood thing. The only time I ever really enjoyed beer was one time out swimming with a friend at her cabin. We were alone and it was hot, and all there was to drink was beer. And we drank it like it was water and we kept swimming and drinking. I can't even remember how old I was then. We only went once and I think I was never asked back because of the beer. Oh well.
My hair's decided it waned to be the weird oily and dry type, so I feel like some kind of critter. I'm trying to dissuade it from full on greasies versus fried rebellion, but if it comes down to it I may have to take drastic measures. Since I've been forbidden to cut my own hair (and did I ever tell you I have a problem with authority?) I'm not sure how things will be dealt with. Soon enough it will all be clear I'm sure. Now if only allergy season wasn't in full swing and I would be able to walk and talk AND see straight! Who needs to be drunk? I loose total control of my ability to focus anywhere near a garden. And we have one. We also have a condo corp that seems to think cutting the grass once a week is AOK. Burnt grass anyone? Nevermind my allergy to cut grass - that's minor compared to the pollen and dust. Because they dug up Walkley road. Get this though, the only thing they have paved in the 3 weeks since then => is the sidewalk edges. That's it. The road is a choppy dust devil zone waiting to getcha.
Ah so I'm off to sun the bamboo, whip the hair into something I can live with and to contemplate lunch. I really need to be more proactive about lunch. Lately I've been skimming through with a cereal bar and an apple. I think I may have to start planning lunches so I take something instead of just shrugging and going I'm too lazy to put some bread and meat together. Seriously I am too lazy, I kid you not. I just want to listen to tunes and relax and not be responsible. I may have to pencil in a talk with myself about the importance of a brown bag lunch. That way I can get determined to be more proactive. Nobody really wants to eat from the wheel of death. Unless there's some strawberry milk. Then I can make the sacrifice.
Keep blogging. ghost writer Ambrrrr at 11:26 AM
blue eyes, crooked teeth, intellectual, goofball, slacker, socialist.