B.I.G. overdrive

Christ. It's 2:15 on Sunday and my weekend has been a complete waste. My house still looks like a furry mammal exploded in it, I have no clean clothes, no food in the house, and I just remembered I volunteered to draft a letter of support for a worthy neighborhood organization over the weekend. That's in addition to the work for the jackass self-absorbed lawyer who wants to pay me to write an article about him that will only be published on his website, and the freaking hell-project that I need to print and organize at work because it turns out the freaking governor's actually reading it and so the president of the company has decided maybe he should see what it says. And, oh yeah, parts of it may not actually be finished, because frankly I figured it was going to gather dust on a shelf at the Statehouse and no one would really notice if tiny little soul-sucking chunks of it are missing. I figured wrong, apparently.

Fuck.

However, the part of me that would ordinarily be doing all of those things has been engaged all weekend in a Sisyphean struggle with Bad Influence Girl, meaning that what I've actually been doing is listening to a lot of CDs and wishing I were somewhere else. Because there are far, far better places to be.

Right now, in fact, I'm having beer for lunch, because really, why the fuck not? (and yes, while I have no food in the house, the beer fridge is well-stocked. Christ again.) In a couple of minutes, I'm going to go to the gas station on the corner and get a pack of cigarettes, because I've smoked all I have and it's a nice day to sit on the porch and have a beer and a smoke, and if I have a couple more beers I'll be buzzed enough that it'll be out of the question for me to get in the Jeep and drive somewhere like, hell, I dunno, Boston or New York, maybe. And maybe I'll actually be productive and make my 8 a.m. appointment tomorrow and get everything done I need to do today.

And maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass.