In which this isn’t going well

Trigger warning: I’m about to complain about having too much time off. Adjust your expectations accordingly and if your initial reaction is “Wow, fuck you, dude,” I would encourage you to roll with that feeling and just bail on the post right now.

Because my God, y’all, it’s just amazing how terrible I am at relaxing. And I actually got some stuff done in the last couple of days! The lawn’s been mowed, and we got the pool set up today, and so far I have been out of school for a week and I have already started to slide into nocturnal behavior (I was up until 2:00 in the morning last night– granted, I was in bed and finishing a book, but still) and I’m not sure but I assume the last time I managed a shower before noon was last Friday. We’ve got another week and then the boy’s summer camps start, so I have to be at least nominally human by 11:30 or so to get him fed and to camp on time, but … damn, it’s just amazing how fast I transitioned into a ball of greasy, overfed sludge.

I gotta start getting up at Going to Work time starting tomorrow. Up and out of bed by, say, no later than 8:00, have a cup of coffee, and the second that cup of coffee is done it’s get in the shower time. Like it’s literally 7:03 PM right now, I’ve been sweaty as hell for hours, because it was crazy humid outside while we were setting up the pool, and at this point I may as well make it two hours to bedtime before I shower. I have this thing where I don’t feel like the day has really started until I’m clean and dressed and that means that the way my brain works today effectively didn’t happen.

Also I had Arby’s for lunch and they have a burger now. Go ahead and have one if you’re curious but I doubt you’ll feel the need to have another. Just don’t do it right before having to go outside and sweat for an hour; it’s not gonna work out well for you.

Gonna go shoot Nazis now, g’night.


Spent today mowing and reading; this lazy bastard spent today laying on my wife. I think my favorite thing about him is that black ring around his neck; it goes all the way around, and if we ever decide to have his head mounted on a wall or turn him into some sort of futuristic head-mounted-on-a-hovering-robot-body cat we have a perfect place to start.

9:02 PM, Saturday May 30: 1,769,776 confirmed cases and 103,768 Americans dead.

In which I embrace the lazy

After I get this post written– because God forbid I not get a blog post written– I intend to be exceptionally lazy for the rest of the day, even by recent standards. I have a feeling that this is going to be a rough weekend mentally and the most difficult thing I want to have to worry about for the next 48 hours or so is preventing myself from blowing any more money on dice this weekend. I literally– this is not a joke, it happened– dreamed about dice last night. I’m fucked up in my brain-parts, I know. I can’t explain it.

But there are books to be read, and video games to be played, and technically I cooked breakfast today so I’ve had at least one Real Meal. I probably need to do something to keep the boy alive– did you know kids are supposed to be fed every day?– but beyond that … eh. It’s Saturday, and I’m in quarantine. I’m gonna Saturday today.

2:24 PM, Saturday April 25: 924,576 confirmed cases and 52,782 American deaths.

E-learning, Day 4

It has been two days since I last wore pants. I had an entire ass parent conference today and did the whole thing in no pants. Recorded an entire video lesson last night. It’s on YouTube. No pants.

I’m not going to make it six weeks.

I give up; don’t read this

I have about 60 pages left of Michelle Obama’s book, which I’m enjoying more than I thought I would, and which I think is probably going to generate a review here once I’m done with it.  I’ve been fucking around on Twitter for like an hour because I’m Going to Write A Blog Post Tonight and fucking around on Twitter is what I do when I’m waiting for my thoughts to gel enough to figure out what I’m writing about on any given evening.

I need to get the blog post written before I can read, because otherwise Not Blogging hangs over my head and distracts me.

Now, at some point, mentally healthy people realize “oh, blogging isn’t happening tonight,” and stop fucking around on Twitter and go do something that they’d rather be doing– like, say, reading a book I’d like to finish tonight, or playing Red Dead Redemption 2.

But apparently yr esteemed host is unable to do that tonight, so he’s just going to fuck around on Twitter until the blog post happens.

Even if the blog post is about fucking around on Twitter.

So maybe I can pick the book back up now.  Hey, I told you not to read this.  🙂