#January2017
Monday Morning Commute: The Sky Above Was Neon
I suppose, invariably, writing Monday Morning Commute on an actual Monday evening will find me: tired, stank-ass from the gym, palming my eye sockets attempting to figure out what to say. So, invariably, here we are. Here I am. Stank ass. Tired. Palming my eye sockets, praying to the Elder Ones to provide Divination. I’m tired, you’re tired. I’m somewhat fulfilled, in a somewhat fulfilling job, that compensates for its fulfillment by being tenuously existent from semester to semester, and perpetually stressful about said existence. But as the French Philosopher CaffPow once said, “C’est la adjunct life or some shit.” He said that. I said that. I hope you’re feeling at least as fulfilled as me, minus the stress, the perpetual scrotum-shrinking stress of contemplating the harrowing, horrifying prospects of what Next Semester Will Bring, less than a week into This Semester.
Fuck, fuck me, I’ve gotten myself off one of them Old Tangents. They used to be about how I beat my meat inconsolably to gifs of Katy Perry or some shit. Many moons ago. Now they’re just another tepid meat-case lamenting its tepidity whilst stuck in said meat-case, completely ignoring how Goddamn Good the meat-case has it Relative To So Much Of The World.
But, uh, buddy. Buddies. How are you folk-fuckers doing? What are you up to this week? Watching anything dope? What are you sweating? Anticipating playing anything dope? Sharing the answers to said questions is not cheating, folk-fuckers. No, in fact, it’s encouraged in this post here’s comments section. One could even say it’s the fucking raison d’être (the phrase popped into my head but truthfully I had to Google it to confirm it actually was a phrase) of this entire column. Generating a self-sustaining Community Bubble wherein we can share what we’re STOKED and JACKED for during a given week.
Me, this little ole devil? I’ll go first.
Hope to see you in the comments section! Folk-fuckers!
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Tuesday Afternoon Commute: You Will Know Her From The Trail Of Dead
Yeah, yeah, yeah. This ain’t Monday Morning Commute. It’s Tuesday Morning Commute, and I’m barely goddamn sorry! Nothing like hitting the workweek hard to remind you of your own entropic plummet towards oblivion. Days like yesterday remind me of one of my favorite passages from Palahniuk’s Survivor, “Time is running out. There isn’t the kind of energy you used to have. You start to slow down. You start to give in” (263). Maybe five years ago, I have a busy day of work, I come home. Churn out thirteen articles for the next two days, jack off three times, eat dinner, jack off three more times, and play seven hours of Mass Effect.
These days? I come home, kiss my wife on the head, throw my backpack to the ground, put on sweatpants, and watch Jeopardy.
Monday Morning Commute: That Noveria Life
As you may or may not know, it’s the fucking Snowpocalypse here on the Northeastern Seaboard of the Empire. We ain’t fucking Commuting Anywhere! It’s the End Times! That’s what the media says! No worries. No sweat. I have serious provisions: four twelve-packs of Diet Dews. Five pounds of Laffy Taffy. A family-sized box of Chez-Its. And I have serious amounts of time on my hands, too. Multiple feet of snow coming in. Multiple miles-per-hour of serious wind. Probably ain’t going to teach again until Friday. So this is what I’m filling my week with. Both during the Snowpocalypse and after we dig out.
