He looks freakin’ dead…

Once upon a time I couldn’t go to sleep without updating this blog. Now I go months ignoring it – treating it like the fat, ugly sister who tags along on a night out with my sexy friends. As much as I try to hide it, writing is my first true love. Sure I might pretend that I’m someone who doesn’t care whether or not you talk to me or give me the time of day but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I live to make people laugh and sometimes I go over the line into inappropriate to do it and this is why I’ll most likely end up divorced and dying alone.

I’ve found myself in a new place where I’m aware that life is short and no one is going to force me into being happy and fulfilled in my work. That is all up to me. I choose to walk into the building where they ID me to even get into the parking deck every morning. Like I’d ever want to park there if I didn’t have to, right? My car is so fucking banged up and shitty at this point what the hell do I care. Put it next to the dumpster and let’s see if someone will pick it up before the end of the work day. Doubtful. Man, I’m never gonna get the 350Z convertible I’d have to trade in one of my kids* for.

I’m venturing into the next chapter of my life and that means I’m facing a semi. No, I haven’t sprouted a small dick (not just yet anyway). A semi-mid-life crisis. What? That’s not a thing? Well too bad cause I’m making it a thing. I’m not quite 40 but I’m definitely old enough to be looking back thinking “fuck young people” and “what the hell do they know about life anyway?” in my jealousy that I now require 6 pounds of eye cream just to look like I didn’t get an Angry Buccaneer the night before. Sure I could just stop all the drinking but what fun would that be? I want to see just how long my liver was designed to last and my money is on long enough that I die before my mind is mush and I’m shitting in my pants. Oh god, please let that be the case. I’d rather end up hideous with a still-sharp mind than pooping in my underwear, lying on the kitchen floor waiting for the neighbor to come over and have to change my diaper. Hell, I’m 36 and never even borrowed a cup of sugar before so that would be reaaaaaly awkward.

*Ok so I’d never actually trade in one of my kids but I sure as hell would make them sit on top of each other in the fucking passenger seat. Strapped into the proper restraint seat, of course.