What’s up, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m aiight, kicking it. I’m aiight, sluggishly tumbling headfirst into the final weekend of the semester. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. Skull-meat’s synapses barely firing, as my thickened blood fails to pump all that well.

But, I’m blessed enough to have the weekend off.

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I ain’t having an anxiety attack, though! Don’t let the headline fool you. Just popped into my head today, when I was brainstorming headlines. A headline for what? Why, the one, the only, the perpetually poorly written and only intermittently published: Weekend Open Bar!

That’s right! Come one, come all and grab a seat here. Here! In the rotgut, mind-melting tavern aboard the Space-Ship Omega.

Once seated, then what? Glad you (didn’t) ask! Share what you’re up to over the next couple of days. Don’t matter if you’re fortunate enough to have them off, or unfortunate enough to have to continue your grind.

All are welcome! Share, share what you’re playing! Share, what what you’re reading! Share what you’re watching, eating, contemplating. Anything and everything goes here, so long as you keep it very tight butthole (the existential state, regarding your own butthole, go fucking wild, I encourage it).

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I initially had a really dour headline and gif to kick off this weekend’s Open Bar. The title was “It’s Better If You Don’t”, which really was a phrase which didn’t mean anything to me. The gif was of an insomnia-riddled Jack from Fight Club blinking at the endless stuffing of the info-tube into his mind-gullet.

My wife’s been away for like fifteen days. My job is stressful and tenuous. The skies are gray and bleeding moisture. Just not feeling It today, you know?

But, hey, man. What the fuck, right? Why wallow?

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Oh what a day, what a lovely day. The terrifying, inevitable transition from cultural entropy into the feigned doubling-down of effort and self-disciplined. Yes, yes, friends. Comrades. Frequenters of Space-Ship Omega. It’s the beginning of a new year, the cessation of the end-of-year celebrations. Darkness looms. Deadlines loom.

Hark, hark, may the Ennui strike you more as a honeyed blanket of anaesthetization. And not, oh dear god, and not as the sort of bowels-liquefying anxiety that plunges you through your corpus, through your bed, through your plane of existence and onto the bottom of the bottomless chasm of existential dread.

Oh, you need a lifeline? Oh, you need something to help with this transition back into the wild world of labor extraction? Well, buddy. Well, pal. Well, comrade. I got you. I got you.

See, this here jam is the Monday Morning Commute jam. And here at this here jam I list the various things I’m using to get myself through a work week. The TV I’m watching to close my third-eye, the music I’m using to block out the droning clarion call of Listlessness. The video games I’m employ for the total deinvigorating oculuar-auditory shutdown I just may need.

That uh, pal, that uh. Got a bit dark. But fuck it, fuck it with gumption and assertiveness.

We get can make it through this reentry together.

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It’s the Weekend Open Bar.

Here on the Space-Ship Omega.

Round and round and round the Sun we go. Harboring ill memories, favorable moments, abject disproofs of karma, and transformative moments of kindness. In the grand scheme of things, we, the Sun, these burps and blips don’t matter one lick. In the grand scheme of things, these random scatterings of electrical impulses, of poor choices, of wise decisions, of moments of passion and anger, they’re all we fucking got.

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Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

Wife’s home. Wood stove pumping a pleasant, hearty heat. Admittedly, an unobtrusive but steady current of holiday corpulence-fueled diarrhea getting me up off the couch. But as I said, unobtrusive. A marginal push, a half-hearted wipe, and I’m back on the couch. Lounging. Admittedly, stank ass’d.

But hey.

Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

It’s that wonderful liminal state between Christmas and January 2nd. Where the entire world seems slumberous, if not not working.

So let’s spend the hour, the day, the week together. This is Monday Morning Commute! Where we share what we’re enjoying during a given week! So, hark! The Calories and Diarrhea Golems sing! What are you up to? Let’s hang.

‘Cause.

Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

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It’s one of those lazy liminal states for a lot of us here in the Empire. They strike every so often. The early summer. The beginning of fall. The end of the year. Where the great masses of us march to work. Going through the motions as holidays loom. Christmas. The New Year. Oh sure physically we may be there. Oh sure, oh sure.

But mentally? Checked out. Checked out more than usual. Those without vacation days, those not wanting to spend vacation days, attend their vocations. Their corporeal and astral forms in disharmony. One sitting in a shitty, non-ergonomic chair (if so lucky). The other surfing the metaplanes, everyone else’s lethargy giving license to their own.

This here is Monday Morning Commute. It’s a lazy week for many. A liminal week for more. So why not, why not spend it here at the Space-Ship OMEGA. Share what you’re looking forward to this week. Be it the arrival of your Christmas break. Be it the arrival of a movie in the theaters you want to see.

Anything. Everything!

Let’s traverse the linear-liminal time-plane together.

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It’s the Weekend Open Bar, man. Come, come join me. But for Space’s Sake, slam that hatch closed tight. It’s cold out there, in Cosmoblivion. Yes, yes indeed. Cold out there, but warm in here. At the Open Bar. Familiar fellows who frequent these grounds know the drill. They’re already perched atop their favorite stool, ready to rock.

For those not familiar, for those just embarking on the Space-Ship Omega, I’ll help you out. Throw you a Martian Ale, or prep-up the mind-gun with the finest of Jovian dust. Introduce you to the rest of the gang. Introduce you to what this here Open Bar is all about.

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It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby! This is the freakin’ Weekend Open Bar, baby! After a particularly strenuous week, I’m happy to report I’m currently supine. Type-type-typing away. Next to Mrs. Omega. Got a weekend of gaming, reading, watching, and sleeping on the docket. Can’t complain, can’t complain.

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I’m just fucking done, man.

The semester has unravelled my precariously knitted-together psyche, spooling it across the OMNIVERSE. If you’ve randomly tripped today, know that it was probably a shredded, knotted, bloodied-strand of my former-consciousness. What was formerly an ebullient, marginally sarcastic whelp has been transformed into a quick-to-fret, foggy-headed nightmare.

I’m just fucking done, man.

This here is Monday Morning Commute, by way of Tuesday Afternoon, sponsored by Ennui and A Colossal, Albeit Ineffective Amount of Caffeine.

This is what I’m looking forward to, this is what’s on my mind, this is what’s simmering in my soul, this week.

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