It’s 10:30 on Monday night and I don’t have a thought in my head. I thought I had a few, but after typing about 25 words I changed my mind. You don’t want to hear me whine about work or construct a funny story about my friends picking on me for whining about work.
Whenever I get like this I think of that scene in “Fire Walk With Me” with Jacques Renault. Sadly, it’s one of those references only about 12 people are gonna get. But here I am, blank as a fart on a Monday night.
I suppose I could spend most of my words talking about how ridiculous my hair is at the moment. Growing out is hard to do. It’s epically bad. If the light in my living room weren’t so dim, I would take a picture for you. It sticks straight out on one side and is pasted to my head on the other. Also, there’s a weird flat spot on top where my headphones rest that makes it look like I’ve been carrying a plate on my head.
That’s about all I got. Getting back to work after four days has eaten my brain and all my smarts.