The last two or three weeks have kicked my ass. I don’t know why, because I’m always running wide-open, but I’m wiped out. I hate to get all Nostrildamus on you guys, but I feel almost sick today — literally sick from exhaustion.
Yeah, I know, I’m generally the first to mock people who say shit like that. But it’s true, regardless of my prior (and future) insensitivity. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon and I could go to bed right now and sleep until morning.
Yesterday I worked more than thirteen hours, and was already a broken man when I got there. But I made it, without upchucking into a trashcan or whatever. And now I’ve got a little downtime to enjoy. I took Sunday off, so I don’t have to return until Monday evening.
And the Nancy gang left this morning, so it’s all coming together… finally. Holy shit. I feel like I’ve been beaten with a pillowcase full of Cokes. Also, my jeans are shockingly loose, all of a sudden. I’m a physical and emotional wreck.
I’m attributing part of the weight loss to a lack of beer, and only one Mountain Dew per shift at work. That’s A LOT of calories I’m no longer ingesting. I haven’t had a beer in many weeks, and haven’t even thought about it much. I’ve got too much to do, to waste time sitting around swilling Yuenglings and watching gay men negotiate real estate contracts, and whatnot.
But, of course, I might feel differently tomorrow… Ahem.
Steve told me he took his two golden retriever puppies to Knoebels (there are plenty of dogs at Knoebels, oddly enough), and one of them jumped up on a woman, snatched an earring, and swallowed it(!). This was just some random person, a complete stranger, and apparently the jewelry was gone before anyone knew what had happened.
Steve apologized, and offered to replace the set of earrings, but the woman told him they were one-of-a-kind, purchased in Italy. Heh.
Fast forward to Steve sifting through fresh-baked dog turds for several days… Finally, on the third morning, he found it. He said it was lying on top of the poop pile, like a wedding band on a ring bearer’s pillow.
He washed the thing in antibacterial soap, then soaked it in jewelry cleaner, and hand-delivered it to the woman.
Wonder if she’ll ever wear it again? Her one-of-a-kind Italian dog-shitted earring? Good stuff.
Speaking of the hounds, Andy is now back to normal. I don’t know what was going on with him, but he’s fully recovered. He’s back to bounding up stairs two at a time, and going ass-over-tits crazy at even the hint of a uniformed delivery man. It’s a relief. The thought of life without Black Lips Houlihan is not a pleasant one. He’s a fantastic animal.
I know I owe you guys an Eninen report or two. But that ain’t gonna happen today. I’ll get to it soon, but don’t currently possess the energy to undertake such a thing. Stay tuned.
This summer I’m going to work on a detailed outline for my next book project. It’s going to be an autobiographical type of thing, based on my West Virginia days. So, basically, everything up until the age of 23. There’s no shortage of material, that’s for sure….
As usual, I’d appreciate your input on this deal. Do any of my stories from that era stick out in your mind? What are your favorite tales of early debauchery (or otherwise)? Please use the comments link below.
And I’m going to call it a day, my friends. I think I’m going to go upstairs and read about Gerald Ford on my Kindle.
I probably won’t update tomorrow, so I’ll give you a bonus Question to ponder. What fake magazines do you think your co-workers might read? At a previous office (California), I worked with a woman who probably subscribed to Modern Hypochondria, and a squirrely little asshole who very likely read White Supremacy Today.
What about your co-workers? What fake magazines do you think they enjoy?
And, of course, if you have any stories about being forced to sift through poop… you know we’ll appreciate those. I mean, seriously.
See you guys next time.
Have a great day!
Now playing in the bunker
Crossroads Road for your Kindle: just $2.99!
Root 66 says
Mags at work:
-Drama Queen Weekly
-I’m 30 But Act Like I’m 17
-I’m Sicker Than You Are