Even though my new and improved long boring weekend (Now with extra boredom!) left me feeling considerably more exhausted and emotionally drained than usual, once I got home I ended up staying up until after 2 am for no damn good reason.
What was I doing? With the exception of watching a couple of shows on Adult Swim (and a couple of episodes of The Venture Bros. on DVD), not a whole lot. It had been my intention to work on the Jessica Simpson flag bikini picture, but I ended up doing a whole lot of anything but that.
Despite the late night and my tiredness I woke up Monday morning at the usual time.
I really didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything, so after talking to my mother I had resolved to head out to the hammock and just waste the rest of the morning.
However, I wasn’t able to successfully chillax, so I came back inside, found that it was a bit after noon, had lunch, and tried to decide whether or not I was going to venture out into the world.
I was pretty well opposed to the notion, and I didn’t really need anything (other than milk), so I wasn’t going to bother, but finally I decided that I would go out to pick up a couple of things, resolving to leave my actual grocery shopping for another day, preferably a day in which my mood was at least somewhat improved.
After finally showering I made my way to the closet to grab some clothes. It’s been a while since I last did laundry, so I was pretty well down to the dregs as far as clothes go. I grabbed a black T-shirt and noticed that it had several small holes that had worn through the front. I nearly put it back and sought out a different shirt, but asked myself, “What difference does it make? You’re just going to the store to get milk. What do you suppose is going to happen, you’ll have a chance encounter with the woman of your dreams in the dairy section only to drive her away in horror when she sees the holes in your cheap cotton shirt? It’s more likely that you will encounter several senior citizens, stuck-up yuppie housewives with three or four kids, an overweight, gum-smacking NASCAR enthusiast with a dodgy perm, and a four-foot tall Hispanic woman with a goiter on her face, all of whom are standing in your way and pissing you off, totally oblivious to your presence. Besides, I’d worry less about the fact that your shirt has holes in it than the fact that you haven’t shaved in five days and you have those thick black hairs that look like what Jeff Goldblum was sprouting from his back in The Fly growing out of your chin and neck.”
Suffice to say, I wore the black T-shirt.
At least I remember to put my partials in. It used to be that I would put them in as soon as I brushed my teeth and then just leave them in all day, but ever since the hygienist told me to only wear them when I actually need them, as they’ve been irritating my gums, I’ve been walking out the door without having put them in more and more frequently.
Saturday morning, for example, I was about three quarters of the way to work when I noticed that I seemed to have a lot more open space in my mouth.
Not that it really mattered, as I didn’t really see or talk to anybody all day Saturday anyway.
Still, the fact that I keep forgetting them is pretty annoying, and when the thought “I forgot to put in my teeth” occurs to me I feel very old for two reasons.
A while back I had been on my way to meet Kathleen for lunch when a quick sweep with my tongue revealed my oversight. Fortunately I hadn’t gone too far, so I was able to turn back and get them.
Later, when I told Kathleen about it, and about how I’ve been forgetting them pretty regularly, she suggested that I put a sign up on my door saying, “Don’t forget your teeth.”
When I shook my head she said, “Why not? It’s not like anyone else will ever see it.”
As I considered the implications of that statement, I thought, “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Still, it’s true enough; no one would ever see it.
*Sigh*
Anyway, once I got home from the store, in a worse mood for having had to deal with being out in the world and for having to be behind that slow-ass Coca-Cola truck that forced me to get stuck at a light, I decided to go for a walk.
Walking, though, like pretty much everything else, pissed me off, so I only managed to get in about two miles.
And of course my lousy day was made complete by the letter from the IRS telling me that I owe them money that I don’t owe them, though I’m not sure I have any kind of documentation that can prove that I don’t owe them the money except maybe my check stub from that period, which shows the money from the sale of the options as being added in with the rest of my wages, but of course I don’t actually have a paper check stub, and I’ve been blocked from attempting to log-in to the site that lets me view my check stubs because I couldn’t remember the stupid-ass “strong” password that the site requires and after making too many failed attempts to remember the damn thing I was locked out of the site entirely for 24 hours.
So yeah, not a great day. I mean, I was in a shitty mood already, so I’m not sure why the Universe felt the need to make it worse.
Oh well.
Oh, and the real capper for the day was when I tried to do the crossword puzzle on my Tablet PC like I do every day and found that no matter how many times I tried, and despite the fact that it was connected to the Internet, it wouldn’t let me download the latest puzzle. Just one of those little incidental touches that can move your day from shitty to really shitty.
In any case, I suppose that I might as well crash and try to make up for lost sleep.
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