|Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before|
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
I used to work at 6 AM. I was always tired. Then my schedule changed to 7 AM. Oh, the difference. It was amazing. I would still be tired here and there, but not the constant state of being tired. Now that I am working in Jersey City and my commute is longer, so I get up earlier, I am back to being beyond tired.
I daydream about sleeping. I actually take naps. Naps! My yawns are monumental. Not only are they contagious, but they've been known to cause sudden narcolepsy in those who witness them. I urge people to treat my like the sun when I yawn; don't stare directly at me. It can hurt.
Oh, I know there are people worse off than I with worse schedules and worse commutes and worse lives, but I don't care much for them.
Speaking of assholes with worse lives, this douche who tried to kill himself, but in the process killed 10 others... dude. What the fuck? I feel bad for the victims of the family. What a shitty way to die. Because some dipshit didn't have the balls to suffocate himself or start the car in the garage or jump into the sea.
If you are going to kill yourself, please don't inconvenience others. Suicide gets a bad rap because of people like you. If your life blows, I am sorry that it's gotten so bad that you want to end it, but please don't interrupt my commute by jumping in front of a train.
So anyway, I'm tired.
I just went to a new doctor and he asked me how old I was. He's giving me a normal old check-up, looking up my nose and into my ears, conversing. Then he says something to the effect of how when men get older, approaching their thirties, they become less satisfied with their erections. He brings up Viagra. He was like a spam subject line. I wonder how he was able to gauge my erection by looking into my ear, but I guess this is his speech that he gives to his male patients.
I say, "No, I'm good." Very tempted to add, "I'm quite satisfied with my boner performance."
So that was a little awkward. He also gave me his email address in case I wanted to get in touch with him. Contacting doctors over email is odd. I've not done it.
"Hey doc, it's me, Mike. I was just in your office a few days ago. You stuck your finger up my ass? Anyway..."
He didn't stick his finger up my ass, but who knows what the future holds? You know, maybe we could start chatting via email, then somehow we start talking about sports or movies and we have a friendly old relationship, but then for some reason he has to stick his finger up my ass. I think the emails would cease. At least from my end.
"Sorry. Can't talk. Finger up ass. Uncomfortable. Mike."
OK. I think I'm about ready to go to bed. It is 6:30, eastern time.