52/119: It'll Last Longer

Late Sunday morning, eating a bowl of wide egg noodles with butter and cheese as an early lunch which was almost a late breakfast. I keep biting myself as I chew. That seems to be happening more frequently now. Another indicator of age, perhaps, but also evidence of poor design. It's why I want there to be a god. Blaming evolution for crap design seems pointless, but a deity can justifiably be held to account. Every time I bite myself I flip the sky off, just in case. Sometimes I'll throw in a "nice work, dork" or a "get your act together, asshole." Some might consider this to be hubris, but personally I doubt that random chance gives a rats as about us or what we think or say or do. And if it turns out there is a god, well, given what it created, it obviously has a fucked up sense of humor, much like me, and I'm probably safe. In fact it probably laughs its equivalent of an ass off every time I bite myself. Jerk.

Anyway, I digress. My detergent-exposed, dried out, split open, skin-shedding fingertips are hurting like hell, as they really don't want me to use the keyboard. And who could blame them (aside from Abraham's god, of course, and he is probably some ancient desert-dweller's heat-induced hallucination.) I think I'll just copy and paste something, and then see about taking a nap. I didn't get up until almost six o'clock this morning, but five or six hours of being awake is about all I can take these days before I hit a wall. My face is mashed up against concrete exhaustion right now.


( Sunday Verse )