Depths of Nonchalance
Fair warning, we've got a front of angsty bullshit moving through the area. This ain't no quarter-life crisis. No, we're kicking it retro, junior high style. Full-on eighth grade action, with just a pinch of third and dash of tenth. Except without curfew.
Summer is on, and I'm already floating face down on a flimsy pool float, drifting in and out of consciousness, cool water on my front, searing sun on my back. I'm vacillating between rampant imbecility and abject speechlessness in specific company. The sparkling wit is dried up, replaced with plebeian hackery, at best. Creativity is just a word I knew once. Armed with next to nothing in the way of the knowledge I'd like to have before proceeding, I'm putting increasing amounts of stock in the opinions of charlatans. They're at least keeping up appearances. Also, this damn cough won't go away.
But at least Family Guy is on. And I planted some flowers. And, if nothing else, picniking, graduates, Sin City, Sushi, Cakre, and Kung Fu Hustle, in that order, made me happy to be alive. I've gone a little into girly overdrive, but I'll be back soon enough. There's something to be said for sleeping in a bed tonight, and I may actually be beat enough to fall asleep at some point. I might be hating on myself pretty strongly at the moment, but I still love everyone else. So it ain't all bad.
What I meant to say was: Word, dawg. I'm up out this piece. Holla.