Gather ye rosebuds, motherfucker! ‘Cause entropy is gonna grip and rip that ass, just like it’s even gonna grip and rip the Universe’s ass. Man, what a fucking awful introduction! I’m sorry. I’m sorry! However, I’m not sorry it’s the fucking Weekend! Specifically, the last weekend before I begin teaching my summer course!

And! You know what that means, right? Fucking raging! Fucking raging so goddamn hard! Spitting blood into the wind, destroying my kidneys and synapses, and making all sorts of fucking mistakes! Prep the 911 call, make sure my wife has my last will and testament, and stay the fuck out of my way!

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The Universe, as expressed through time, don’t give two tugs of Fate’s tits about us, my friend. And in some ways, that’s pretty fucking freeing. Lord knows, we’re fucking it up down here with an alacrity and casualness that would definitely piss off most religion’s Gods. But, they don’t exist and we’re alone, and the Universe is just humming along. Indifferent, but wonderful. Detached, but in a sort of measured, comforting manner.

Anyways, the whole reason I started babbling about existence, the Cosmos not even mustering a shrug at humanity, and all this happy horseshit is thus: I’m celebrating my five-year anniversary on Saturday. What the absolute fuck, how the absolute fuck have five years passed already?

In many ways, 2015 was a severe mid-series reboot of my existence. To the extent that, while I don’t regret any of the choices, I would never stack such changes on top of one another so quickly. In the span of three months I got married, bought a house, and got a dog.

There was a moment that autumn where I asked myself, “Who the fuck am I? And what the fuck am I doing?” in a sort of feverish worry.

But, now it’s difficult to picture myself not living with my wife, walking my dog, or fondly returning to my small house. Which is an overly opaque way of saying I enjoy my life, and I find myself smiling now at the chaos. Perhaps that’s the goal, to be able to come out the other side of the Tumult, and be able to smile at it.

Who knows. I’m bloviating, per usual.

Only tangentially related to that saccharine blast of textual diarrhea is this here column, Monday Morning Commute! Or, maybe I’m just being disingenuous. ‘Cause when I think of what I enjoy most in my life, spending time here and on Twitch with the rest of the OL community is high on the list.

So my dudes, let’s hang out. Shoot the shit about what we’re getting into this week.

I’ll go first!

Shazam!

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Hey, friends! We’ve come out the other side of another week. And, it feels good! Lots of bullshit and miscellany peppering my tits this week! Planning for a summer class that has almost no form or guidance from above. The inexorable pain of not being able to take a crap, because I’m so fucking stressed. But, hey, whatever, the fucking week is over! I have my health, my job (for now), and Dulcolax!

Perhaps most importantly, I got this fucking community! And, I hope you’ll spend some time with me this weekend.

Let me know!

As the pandemic drones dully onward, what are you up to this weekend? To combat the ennui? To stave of the dreadful sense of perpetuity this whole ordeal is taking on? Are you going for a hike in the nice weather? Doing jackknifes into your pool? Lathering your nipples in sunscreen and sprinting through Target, screaming (while wearing a mask, obviously)?

It’s all fodder for fascinating conversation here at the Open Bar!

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I’m on vacation, but fuck I’m awful at enjoying it. Nothing says “I’m fucking crushing this relaxing thing” like waking up at 9:30 this morning, veins white-hot with irrational anxiety. But! I’m happy to say I have rallied since then. Took a two-mile walk, exercised a bit. Sucked in the rays from the Central Engine, and felt my rectum loosen just a bit. Just–a-bit. However, that’s better than nothing, right? And folks, good news.

I’m asking you to help loosen my rectum even further. That’s right, that’s right! Pull up a chair, and shoot the shit with me. Tell me what you’re looking forward to this week, and watch in glee-and-horror as the ole o-ring relaxes to a healthy sort of dour droop. I don’t ask for much, but I’m asking for this. Let us imbibe in the sweetened, honeyed nectar of community, together. And share in the experience of watching as he gets me where I need to be.

Please?

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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