Every Storm. . .
I want to be humorous, but I just can’t. This shit has got me down. The holiday, my job, the state of my fixer-upper house. I don’t have the fucking energy to be funny. Of course I don’t think anyone has that expectation of me; to be funny all the time. I’ve never intentionally tried to be funny every day, because that’s not what this blog is about. This blog is about me, being me. Some days I am funny, at a minimum I am sarcastic and bitchy, and other days I am just downright rude and socially unacceptable. Tonight, I am tired and bitchy, my job offers me no challenges, I ain’t been laid in so many godddamn fortnights (I just found out what that word actually means last week, so I’m using it in a fucking sentence) I can’t even count, and it’s fucking Christmas in a little over a week.
Could things be worse? Definitely. Should I be more grateful? Probably. But if there’s one thing I know about me, it’s that I have to ride the waves, whatever type of waves they might be. Eventually, the water will be calm again, and I can have a little peace.
Gary Allan says every storm runs out of rain. . .sing my life. . .