I'm falling into a shitty pattern lately.
I get up and go to work. I get there shortly after eight in the morning. A nine-hour-long tornado hits me, I come to my senses around 5:30, and I schlep myself home. Sometimes I have a meeting or other assorted work-based engagement, so it could be later. I groggily make dinner, waste a few hours, then go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat five times a week, for 40-ish weeks.
There's not a whole lot I can do about my workday — it's my job, I love it, and I'm not looking to change it — but outside that, I can't help but feel a little dazed and lost. I live in the Centre Of The Universe, so there's a lot of stuff to do, bands to see, booze to drink, and good times to be had. But, as long as your plans don't include showing up at a random bar and getting sloshed solo (which is a little sad if you're most people, me included), you need a runnin'-crew.
Current status of the J-man's Runnin'-Crew (names have been changed to minor Seinfeld characters to protect the lame):
- Bob Sacamano: quasi-married, with 2-year-old
- Franklin Delano Romanowski: gone to Chicago for the next little while
- Lomez: a good kid, but in Ottawa every other weekend
- Art Vandelay: out in the sticks, with no car
- H.E. Pennypacker: out in the further-out sticks, but with a crappy car
Should I start doing coke or something? I'm scared to death of it, but it seems to make people pretty jubilant. Maybe I'll dissolve it in battery acid and inject it straight into my naughty-bits, just for fun. Just an idea.
Ok, so, bye for now.