Down the road, not across the street: Make it count!

3 Feb

I’ve been pumping out notes like it’s my job this week fellas, and don’t think anything’s about to change. I’ve got ideas coming at me left and right, and I will surely be reaping the benefits of personal creativity.

Before I begin the meat of this note, I’d like to take a moment to describe my pet betta fish, Elvis. For starters, I recently decided to start calling him Sparky instead, and then decided moments later that I will call him whatever I wish from day to day, because flexibility is more my style.

Elvis plays an unbelievably convincing game of dead. I wake up in the morning and check on him, and he’ll be laying on his side in the bottom of his bowl amongst the rocks. “Oh no!” I exclaim, and tap the glass in an alarming manner. He immediately darts up and starts swimming enthusiastically around his bowl. Other times, he’ll float toward the surface of the water pointing directly upward, like nose to the ceiling, and he’ll just stay there, perfectly still and lifeless, as illustrated below. I become concerned and pester him through the glass until he proves his living status, and then go about my day as usual.

Earlier this afternoon I was thinking how much fishes’ lives suck ass. Especially bettas. They basically just exist in a bowl of tepid water no bigger than a grapefruit, converting H20 into oxygen all day long. Fish must go out of their freaking minds. No sooner was I thinking about the horribly unstimulating life my fish must lead when I glanced over only to witness him making serious attempts to dive out of his bowl and commit suicide. In several extremely ambitious attempts, he got fired up and shot toward the surface of the water, literally leaping out of it. At first I was shocked to see Elvis being so morbid and suicidal, but then I figured, shit, if that’s the life I led, I’d pull the trigger, too.

He failed anyway, so he’s stuck until he figures something else out. I’m just not looking forward to returning from class one day to find him dried up on my desk next to his bowl.

Kehly and I were discussing the exact definition of J-walking this evening when she stated how the police should use their time doing more important things than handing out J-walking tickets like it’s their only job. Then I thought about how different the world we lived in would be if the punishment for things like J-walking or a simple parking ticket were death. Like you come out of the bank and your parking meter has run out, and as you approach your car, you’re shot on site. Ha. I laughed really hard about such a consequence, and then patted myself on the back for deciding to walk instead of drive that day.

Well, class begins tomorrow. I’m not what most would call “thrilled” about it, but what can you do. Now I will go dye my hair and possibly go unconscious from inhaling the life threatening toxic fumes.

“I’m having a hard time believing that this little pill is going to stop the bonfire that’s going on in my pants right now.”



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