I’m getting acclimated to living alone again now that my devil angel has left. I flipped my National Geographic calendar over tonight and deeply connected with the March monkey. He has a massive frown and big heavy lidded tired eyes. A perfect choice for this month because he looks cold and tired and knows it’s going to be a miserable 31 days. He has a look that says, “I’m so tired of this shit, I just want it to be over, for better or worse.” An old grey Japanese Macaque hot tub monkey. I would trade places with him.
I just woke up a little while ago after sleeping all afternoon due to my night job and early classes. Still in pajamas, bluish polka dot pants and a big oversized sweater that I’m comfortably swimming in. I’m cooking my puffy pancake breakfast. I’m going to smother it in syrup and it will be tasty. I won’t feel like doing anything after eating it.
And I ate it. I think I need a coffee. So stuffed (like a plushy). I enjoyed the reaction I got when I wrote that a half dozen posts or so ago. Maybe you gleaned some unintended perverted meaning from it, possibly involving stuffed animal masturbation. I complicated matters with the image of Superman and Lois as a centaur. That must have stirred the id a little.
I was a zombie after work on campus this morning. In lecture, every three minutes my head would sink, then jerk back up to mindlessly copy the formulas and scribbles on the whiteboard. Then the head bobbing cycle repeated for two hours.
I vaguely recollect stopping at the Pit Stop store to buy a Jones blueberry soda. It wasn’t in my bag when I checked tonight, apparently I did buy the new Adbusters though. I slowly flipped through it and it made me angry-depressed as usual. There’s not much fire in the belly today.