And We Would Cook a Corn Meal Porridge

Readability Index: Weak

Well, shit.

It is almost one AM. It’s funny how some people say, “It’s 1 AM in the morning.” I’ve never done it before, but one day, by God, I’m going to say, “Yeah by that time it was like 2 AM in the night.” I bet no one will think anything of it. Because it makes total sense to me.

Well, but shit.

This is to be my wind down post before going to bed.

God I love hitting that publish button so much. All the words blocked off in their appropriate fences with pretty blue titles. And all the ways to keep track of them. To catalogue them. I love cataloguing. I could totally dig a job where I just fixed people’s iTunes libraries. I love databases, especially the ones with no point whatsoever. Of course those kinds of databases don’t exist.

I love the Mad Hatter.

Yes, but I am trying to wind down, and unlike this morning, well I just can’t stop my fingers. They are moving so fast and with such precision that it almost hurts to watch. God. How did I get born with fingers that work? Jesus Christ. What if my fingers were cut off in a freak trolley incident? What a bitch that would be. What difficulties that would present.

I am so god damned perfect. Like a machine. Like a sad machine. Like a god damned ecstatic James Brown SEX MACHINE!

Well but shit. It is imperative that I calm down now so that I can go to bed. So that I can wash those god damn dishes that led to this beautiful coconut muffin that my super hot girlfriend just made.

She is so super hot that I am afraid of time. I am afraid that she will get older and so will I. I will have saggy balls. What a bitch. She is so super hot that I just want to jump into a drying tub of amber with her and die like that French movie called…The Game. But in French.

But for now. We are both so perfect. No diseases. Ten fingers. What a couple of assholes we are.

Hoo.

Shit. The dishes. The dishes. I think…no, I know that that is what life is REALLY ABOUT. Life is really about doing the dishes. I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again and again. Because I feel that it is true, and I know that I know why, but I can’t articulate it, even to myself. I know that life is about doing the dishes, but I don’t know why I know that.

But that’s neither here nor there, as my friend would say who has gone to Afghanistan for a year and we parted on bad terms. Isn’t that a bitch. We have been friends since High School. We have been so cool together and now he is seconds away from dying and we don’t even like each other.

Yes, but as another friend wisely told me in a funny voice, “Friendship is a long and bumpy road.” Yes. Yesssss.

Well. Shit.

These muffins are delicious. And I never expected to be given the gift of sitting here for two or three hours after work just doing my own thang.

The truth is if it weren’t for my girlfriend I would have no structure in my life whatsoever. I would probably be watching Marley the Bob Marley documentary right now and blogging about it. And I would do that for about three hours and love the hell out of it and not eat a god damn thing. Then I would watch some porn and then I would blog some more and then the sun would come up and I would have not eaten or drank or took my coat off. There are many bloggers out there who come to this and find it a pleasurable state. I do, too, until later when I look back, like when I’m at work and I think if I got anything done that day, then I am not happy about it. So God only knows what the fuck is going on. But my girl makes me go to bed and wake up in the morning and eat and wash the goddamn dishes. And take showers. Trust me I’d be the dirtiest mother fucker alive. I love taking showers once I’m in the shower but I hate undressing and getting in there.

Showers are just about the most luxurious fucking thing anybody could ever do. And millions of “poor” Americans take showers every day. We are rich as a bitch over here! Showers feel fucking great. God damn I am an American! How did this shit happen. In France I had to shower in cold water and it sucked sucked sucked. I have taken many cold showers on the advice of Tim Ferriss and the venerable General George Patton, but those were for a purpose. Hot showers…man they are one big fuck you to the Earth, but I can’t stay away. Yes I know. I’m a terrible Earthling.

Ah, but fuck I will talk about that some other time. I can’t even be bothered to stop typing long enough to pick up that goddamn muffin! Yum so good. Oh god it’s warm and good. It’s so goooood o fuck. Jesus.

What the shit am I doing with my life! Christ in heaven and blazing angels pissing on Willie Nelson this muffin is good!

Yes, so now to do the dishes.

There is so much more to talk about. I can go without sleep. And I totally would. But y girlfriend’s home and the mother fucking hammer is down.

Tomorrow I work early in the morning and she is not going on a field trip so we may be just talking and laughing the early hours away. AKA staying stone cold the fuck asleep because we stayed up until two AM in the night.

So I’ll just be reading Ruth Reichl on the bus and itching to get back here around 4 PM and type my ass off.

Right now…the dishes.

3 thoughts on “And We Would Cook a Corn Meal Porridge

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