repeat, I repeat, repeat

I wrote this little bit of nothing sometime earlier this summer as an expression of my mentality at the ripe young age of 25, alive and subdued by happy pills, meds which act as a kind of windex, cleaning the residue, clearing the haze of the days of an explosive adolescence. It’s Monday again. I’d love to write about how Mondays choke on a fat d, but I did that last week. I could complain about the administration, but that would be too easy. Rising energy costs are a hot issue, but political blogs are saturated with commentary on echoes of the Carter administration. If I were feeling daring, I could reveal the true reason why I’m so tired this morning is the result of too much wine and pillow talk last night, causing me to fall asleep at the wheel twice this morning, a silver jetta honking at me as the light had been green for at least 10 seconds, nearly in a fit of rage for having their morning postponed by some 25 year old punk. If this were interactive, I could poll my audience, ask how their weekends were, what hot topics are on their minds, which comforting words they would like to hear. If I were a bird I would fly away. If I were a millionaire, I definitely wouldn’t be at this cubicle today.

holding out for a million to fall out of the sky or retirement, whichever comes first.

cheers...to the dreaded fcuking mondayz.....god bless em.

(I’m really out of it people, but whaddya gonna do?)

Peace, love, and cupcakes.

Jobe?

this is not art
nor is it a start
or a glimpse into anything of consequence
shallow thoughts from a lost soul
cascading from a mind
completely out of sync with sequence
frequently reading
words misleading
to an abrupt conclusion
that life is merely an optical illusion
distracted by fiery passions of a fleeting youth
perpetually chasing ends to make amends
stumbling towards the inevitable
inevitably destined to discover truth.