I am at work right now. At least I am writing this at work right now, for all I know you are reading this while I am in the bathroom or while I am snuggly tucked into my large, warm bed beneath a pile of blankets. I guess that where I am is not very poignant, at least to you, unless you are stalking me. If that is the case feel free to knock on my door, since I tend to invite the Jehovah�s witnesses in I doubt that I would turn you away. That is, unless you smell, I abhor smelly people. And midgets.
I have been uncommonly tired the last couple of days. Not sleepy tired, but tired in the lazy, languid way that you get after you smoke a fat joint. No, I haven�t been smoking fat joints lately, nor have I been toking on skinny joints, bowls, bongs, or any other of that damn hippie paraphernalia. Although I occasionally wish I was.
Sorry, I had to get up and stretch my legs; they were feeling a bit numb. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was talking about nothing, although �nothing� is entirely up to philosophical debate. Have you ever seen SLC Punk? If not you should. They talk about nothing quite a bit during the film, although they try to mask it as deep, thought provoking ideals. Still, it is a good movie. Shooter McGavin is in it, unfortunately he doesn�t tell anybody that he eats pieces of shit for breakfast.
I wonder what would happen if I just told my boss that I was going home right now. I don�t think he would take me very seriously. No one does, myself included. I guess I am not a very serious person. One time I felt suicidal but then I realized my psyche was probably just trying to pull another practical joke.
Addiction, yeah, I am an addict. I am addicted to mediocrity. But only really good mediocrity, the sub-standard shit was never really my bag of tea. Wait a minute, I think I confused my metaphors, it should have read �cup of tea�, tea bagging is something entirely unrelated to this post. Unless I decide to talk about sex�though I don�t think I will.
