Kafka

I am on vacation. Despite this I went into the office for ten hours yesterday. I forgot to change my socks. It was a mess. My buddy Wally almost got me a job on the new Tyler Perry movie, which would have allowed me to quit my desk job (at least for a while). That the job didn’t come through sank me into yet another round of despair. Kafka was a bureaucrat. I may be worse, since my shit day job doesn’t inform my worldview or my writing. I may just be masturbating here, but at least I get off at the end of it.

I’ve toying with a few new ideas to make myself useful. One of them involves a walrus. I’d like to say more, but that would be telling.

At work I thought about hitting on the cleaning lady, but I wasn’t drunk enough. At least I’m writing at a regular pace. I want to hollow out the body of God and move my stuff in, but he wont hold still.

This morning I watched the episode of M*A*S*H where Radar’s uncle Ed Dies and Radar gets a discharge and goes home. I thought that Radar must have felt guilty that he got what he wanted because someone he loved died. Life is like that. It’s called blood money. When my mom died she left me a little bit of money and I used it to pay off our car loans, then I couldn’t look at the cars without wishing someone would kill the weeds growing in my heart. Black snow piles up outside the windows, but we never turn on the heat.

I recommend the maker’s Mark on the rocks.

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