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Just Let Me Sleep Another Twelve Hours, Okay?

Man, is it time to write something again already?

Shit. I thought when I moved my blogging schedule from ‘every freaking damned day, mostly’ to ‘every other night, give or take’, it would feel like a vacation. Wrong was I. It’s not exactly Weekend at Gitmo’s, or anything horrific like that — but I’m still amazed at how quickly the calendar turns.

Which simply means that I’m damned fucking old. That’s fine. I can live with that — which is good, I suppose, since the only alternative is… well, not living with it. Not living at all, really, when you get right down to it. So I’ll take the creeping gray hairs and phantom aches, thanks. Beats the hell out of keeling over at my desk and flopping onto the floor.

(‘Specially given my late-night choice of wardrobe. Nobody wants to be found in plaid boxers and a ‘Pimp Daddy’ T-shirt. Apparently, my fashion sense has already kicked the proverbial bucket.)

Anyway, it’s not just that. Much as I’d like to blame all of my shortcomings — and outgrowings — on the inexorable passage of time, there’s more to it than that. I’m having motivational issues, pretty much across the board lately. Even more so than usual, and that’s saying something, amigo. I mean, just look around this joint — with all the time I’ve spent slinging shit around here, it must be pretty clear that I’m not exactly Captain Ambition, for crissakes.

(Although, there’s always hope. I’d never set the bar quite that high — ‘captain’ is a lofty rank, after all — but maybe there’s something else that would fit my particular ‘talents’. Lance Corporal Half-Assing-It, perhaps. Or Sergeant Settle-For-Less. Maybe if I really stopped applying myself, one day I could become the Minister of Mailing-It-In. Sweet. That’s almost worth a shred of enthusiasm. Almost.)

Whatever it is that’s stuck in my craw — and I’m only assuming that’s where it’s stuck; I don’t even know where my craw is, frankly. Hell, do I even have a craw? It sounds like something you’d find on the ass-end of a lobster. Honestly, I’m just writing down shit that I’ve heard — I don’t know what it means, really. Hell, probably no one does. ‘Craw’. What the hell is wrong with people, anyway?

At any rate, what I was trying to say there is that whatever’s got me apatheticized, it’s doing a number on me. You know that noise you used to make, when Mom would wake you up, like on a Tuesday morning, and tell you it was time to go to school? And you didn’t want to get up, and you were tired, so you rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but she kept coming in and poking you? ‘Get up.‘ ‘You’re gonna be late.‘ ‘I’m counting to three, and you’d better be up!‘ Remember that?

Now, remember the noise you made, after the third time or so? The sound that comes from wanting no part of the outside world, but knowing that you’re not going to be left alone in frigging peace, no matter what you want? That annoyed, exhausted, grunty sort of noise? ‘Unnnnggghh!‘ That one?

Yeah, that’s my favorite noise these days. That’s what I’m talking about. When it’s time to get up — ‘Unnnnggghh!‘. Time for work? ‘Unnnnggghh!‘ Time to drive home? ‘Unnnnggghh!‘ Now it’s the weekend — go out for beer? All the way out of the house? ‘Unnnnnnnnggggggghhhhh!‘

(And yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Those last three paragraphs were a pretty fricking long way to go for where that ended up. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should delete that bit, and replace it with something wittier. But you know what? ‘Unnnnggghh!‘

So there.)

Anyway, I don’t know what’s to blame for this condition. For whatever reason, I’m feeling listless. Apathetic. Checked out.

(I almost wrote ‘disenfranchised’, too, but that’s too fricking long to… aw, dammit. I just wrote it, anyway. Shit. Now I’m winded. That’s just peachy.)

Who knows — maybe I’m anemic or something. Or maybe I’ve got a parasite. Or maybe perky little bands of gnomes visit me in the night and steal my enthusiasm with their VerveSucker 3000 device. Could happen.

(Hey, I said I was apathetic, people — I can still come up with ridiculous paranoid fantasies, dammit. Trust me — when you’re me, that sort of thing really doesn’t take much effort at all.)

So, enough dithering here. I’ve got a big bunch of nothing to get back to, and then it’s off to bed. A good night’s sleep should help, eh? So long as the verve gnomes don’t come a-calling. I should really set up a trap or camera or something for those little bastards, just in case they’re real.

On the other hand, that sounds like frigging work. Screw it. Come and get me, ya mythical mother fuckers. I’ll be the one in the bed, sleeping till noon tomorrow, drooling on my ‘Pimp Daddy’ T-shirt. You wanna piece of me? ‘Unnnnggghh!‘