Holy Crap!!

Is it June already? Seriously. JUNE? As in, almost half-way through the year? The start of yet another summer where I will swelter and swear and swoon in the sun, and fuck, I haven't even written my New Year's resolutions yet.

And don't you just hate it when people are all like, oh my stars, is it really ~insert random date and/or holiday~ and you're all, yes, dumbass, it is, time marches on you know, the calender doesn't wait for you so stop living with your head up your ass and pay attention!

Unless of course I say it then you must nod in agreeance and say, yes, yes Betty, it's unbelievable that it's already June. I hadn't even thought about it until you, in your brilliant wisdom, pointed it out. Thank you for making me realize that I've been living in a fog of my own retardation. You are smart and pretty.

And speaking of foggy retardation...

I've had severe writers block lately. And conversation block. And now that I mention it, my shitter ain't workin' neither. But then it never does. I can't even tell you how annoying it is when your entire lower half has a mind of it's own and a devilish sense of humor. Hmm, today you have 3.2 seconds to get to the bathroom! HA HA, almost didn't make it, did ya? Tomorrow you'll take a seat in el baño with cramping and pain but nothing will happen! Nyah nyah, gotcha! And I even ate that salad that one day so there was fiber! WTF?

I could say that I don't really know what's going on, but I do. Unfortunately I know exactly what I'm doing, or rather, not doing. I'm in EXIST mode. I'm not necessarily depressed, at least I don't feel depressed, but I don't want to do, well, anything. I'm still super bored at work and feeling like I'm contributing jackdiddlydoodleshit to the universe, still hating my commute and not enjoying my passive-aggresive beasts from beyond co-workers, but hell, you can pay me XX a year to play 10 games of spider solitaire every day and surf the net.

Or is it really a bad thing? Am I making things worse by staying here? And I'm not moving forward because it's comfortable? Fuck. I don't know.

I don't feel like writing or reading much or stepping foot out of the house. I'd rather lay in bed all day and flip through 275 channels of crap and snuggle with Boo when she's not crabbing at me to leave her the fuck alone. I'm just friggen tired and never feel good. Ever.

I don't want to think about dishes or laundry or paying bills, which I don't do until the thumb breakers call me and say, would you like to give us some money or would you prefer to cook your dinner by butane torch? I drove past my chiropractors office the other day, skipping my appointment, and didn't even care. And I don't want to make the hundredjillion doctors appointments I should be making.

I have a lot of interests and ideas and pontential goals, but I've stepped into quicksand and simply shrugged my shoulders about it. And this is all not fair to anyone, especially the love of my life who deserves more than a chronically migrainy ailing sloth in yoga pants who doesn't have the energy or will to warm her cooked the night before scrambled eggs with spinach and onions in the microwave and eats them cold and dewey with a dirty spoon from the bottom of her desk drawer.

I've always been high on wants and low on motivation, but this is rigoddamndiculous. I'm not the kind of person who should take it easy. Cruising through life for me means wasting oodles of time doing nothing, and that's where I am right now. I know that I could never work full-time at home because if that was the case I wouldn't even shower every day and most likely spend the majority of the day napping and whacking off and those are things you're only supposed to do on Sunday.

It's important to have goals. To think about them then set them then strive for them and one day achieve them. Shit, they taught us that in fucking first grade, you'd think by now I would have believed it, because if you don't, then you become complacent and apathetic and LAZY. Just like me. And dammit, now I'm kinda depressed!!

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On a lighter note. I'm obsessed with The Dog Whisperer. I'm talking stalker-level unhealthy I want to be him for Halloween please don't shoot me if I show up at your front door obsessed. He's a genius, has some questionable taste in shirts, but a GENIUS. He can fix any dog with any problem 99% of the time by taking it for a walk. A walk! That's it? Yes! A walk.

It doesn't matter if the dog is a killer pitbull who ate your great grandmother last Thanksgiving or a chihuahua that humps your dress shoes. A walk is the cure. Got a mutt who's afraid of it's own shadow? Take it for a walk. Does your poodle piddle? Get the leash.

It really is amazing how he can teach people to fix unwanted and super f-d up behaviors in such a short time and with what ends up being simple techniques. And it's equally amazing how many dog owners don't know fuckshit about dogs or how to treat them. I'd rather these people have another screaming child the world has to endure than someone who's ruined an innocent puppy by letting it lick their ballsac because they think it's cute.

It would change my life forever if I could do what he does, train dogs and rehabilitate people. I'd be an awesome pack leeeeeder. But that would take effort and we all know I'm a quart and a half low on that.

Maybe I need to go for a walk.