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Tryin' To Live by Ray Printer Friendly

I almost feel bad about posting again, if you want to know the truth. Seems like in my drunken absence, others have stepped in to give you something to read, which Iím all foróreading my own stuff is tiresome at best and downright embarrassing the rest of the time. But Iím back, I guess.

Took a few days off, mostly to get really drunk with Trey and bitch with him about how bad it sucks to be old, fat, andÖwell, Iím sure there was more, but after talking about how old and fat Iíve gotten, I started drinking even harder, so the rest of the weekend is kind of a blur.

I actually tried writing yesterday, and came up with nothing but garbage:

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So Iím sitting here, all unemployed and stuff. It feels like my first real day of unemployment, even though I suppose that technically itís my fourth. I had the weekend, which would have been my regular days off even if I hadnít quit my job, and then I had yesterday. Trey was still here yesterday, so it felt more like I was on vacation rather than unemployed.

I took my princess to work today, though, and after I dropped her off, I didnít come home and get ready for work. I didnít have to rush around, trying to get my stuff together, hoping that the coffee would kick in pretty soon so I would at least be able to remember my name by the time I got to work.

Instead, I came home, I looked around at my empty apartment (clean, because of our ďcompanyĒ), and went and washed a couple loads of laundry. While I was waiting for the rinse cycle, I read a book, and after I got the clothes in the dryer, I came back to my place and hung up a couple of pictures that Iíve been meaning to hang for about eight months now.

I made the bed, ate some Fruit Loops, and here I am. I tried to sit down and start writing on something productive, but believe it or not, itís actually kind of difficult. I keep feeling like I should be doing other thingsówriting is for night time, when everything else is finishedóor at least when everything else is able to be ignored. I mean, I should probably clean the kitchen, and I have a couple more things to hang up. Oh, yeah, and Iím supposed to do something about car insuranceóthatís one that Iím really dreading.

Anyways, other than that, what Iím supposed to be doing is writing. Itís odd. So this is basically a warm-up, I guess.

So, Trey was here this weekend, and that was a pretty good time, especially if your definition of a good time is sitting around eating and drinking and talking about being fat. And if thatís not your definition of fun, I donít know whatís the matter with you, because what could be more than that? Nothing, thatís what.

Oh, and if thatís not enough, we bitched about getting old, too.

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Okay, so itís night time now, and the words are coming out a little more freely. Instead of getting down to business with the writing today, I made chili. I just couldnít stay sitting down, I couldnít just hang out and write.

But enough about all that, anywaysójust thought Iíd fill you in a little about how the unemployment was going.. Because how great will The Strangelands be once itís just the blog of a failed writer? Geez, thatís depressing on so many levels that itís not even funny.

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Yeah, so thatís that. I started trying to make myself write, and it didnít work out too well. I just got tired, got a headache, and ended up going to bed all pissed off. But todayís a new day, and I figure that if I canít think of anything to write about, Iíll just get really drunk and then go dance in the shower to the soundtrack of Grease. I mean, if you canít get a couple of interesting stories out of that scenario, I reckon itís probably time to hang up your guns as a story-teller, donít you?


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