Waking up early on a Sunday always seems like a sacrilegious thing to do. it is the day of rest, the day where no matter how hard you slam partied the night before, you can stay in bed until brunch then go hard on the Bloody Mary’s until the football games start then ease into normal mode as Monday rears its nightmarish head in the distance. It makes perfect sense and it fits the natural order and no one sets hard rules about it. Even Catholic ass isn’t until 11 most of the time, so if you can make it there you know that you are in the clear.
No, today my brain decided that on the truly one day of the whole week I can actually sleep as long as I want, I would have a nightmare about how a goddamned YouTuber was a better husband than I was. Yeah, I dream about stupid shit like that. I woke up and had my vaguely conscious and dream fueled existential crisis and then I sat up and decided it was time for some goddamn coffee.
That was about 2 this morning.
So now, with a bus scheduling change happening tomorrow, I will be tired no matter what. So there is that.
I am going to sit here and tweak around with my computer for a bit, the network card on the young one died the other day so I am restricted to WiFi-only now, which I despise, and I will be trying to make it go as fast as I can using that particular technology.
I wish I had something creative to say, it’s simply not there. I know that disappoints a few people, but you can’t just make it appear if the words aren’t there. I can’t make a story when my mind is full of things that are darker than storytime because they are real and very, very necessary to think about. I won’t apologize for not being there creatively, I will simply tell you I am and you can suck a fuck if that isn’t enough for you to understand.
Rarwz I guess
© 2020, TheJameyBear. All rights reserved.
I am JameyBear. Liberal. Hippie. Dad. Widower. Poet. Author. Sarcastic Ass. Friend. Lover. Hater.
I have lied and cheated, stolen and done violence in word and deed.
I have given the shirt off my back and they wanted the skin underneath instead.
I am a notorious soft touch, wearing my heart on my sleeve and wanting to make everyone happy.
I tip too much, too often, too many places, and it is has burned me even as recent as this week.
I love everyone I have ever hated still. I will always love the memory of being in love with them.
I want to be your friend. No. I want you to want me to be your friend.
I am clingy and needy, dependent and hopelessly lost in times that I will never live in.
I use language that was archaic when archaic was a new word in the early 19th century.
I want to record myself reading everything so people won’t forget me when I disappear.
I talk too much, listen too deeply, process too quickly and infer way too much.
My beard is also better than yours