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71 minutes
Something about the last 71 minutes of the last work day of the week makes it almost unbearable. I don�t know if it�s just that the end is in sight, so near but yet so far or if it�s just that I really don�t have much left to do, nobody�s talking to me (assholes) and I know there are about 35 things that I have to get done before I allow my mom to buy me pizza for dinner this evening. At this point it�s a matter of deciding whether it is more important for me to get the grocery store so that I do not starve to death (contrary to how things may appear, it�s something I�m constantly on the verge of) or to get home and cut the grass in the backyard before it starts raining again, thus ensuring that I won�t be able to cut the grass which may effectively be the final straw in turning my backyard from �mildly unruly grass that flows in the breeze and collects tiny little bugs while at the same time effectively hiding small furry critters� to �out of control amazonian rain forest complete with enormous scary bugs and, possibly, lions.� A quick check of outside conditions shows that it may actually be possible to get both things accomplished this evening as for the first time in days and days � the sun is shining. After a brief hiatus to regroup last weekend, hooliganism resumes this weekend. No promises, but there might be stories to tell. I promise that none of them will begin with �I was so drunk that�� because really, those stories are only good once every 6 months or so, right? Erm. Happy Friday!
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