Pessimism does have its benefits. For example, when the source of pessimistic anxiety never comes around the sense of relief is intoxicating to the retard (aka me).
Right now I'm feeling weird and pessimistic, I just want to get tomorrow's ten to four shift over and done with and spend the rest of the weekend drinking and eating in my dark basement apartment.
My sister might be getting married and a recent email to Brian seemed to say there was an outside chance of getting married. All this talk is creepy to raddidge and makes me sound like a sixteen year old girl who cuts herself while listening to emo music.
Friday had a scare for me. When I coughed on Friday morning, my back seized juuust a little and made me fret about another painful relapse like the incident so many Augusts ago. Go fuck yourself, gentle reader, if you think I'm going to link to that article again because poppa's tired. Each potential sneeze was heralded by brief, sharp spasms which reinforced the Friday morning warning.
Sadly this means I'm going to postpone my cycling trip into Manitou Springs.
Right now Spot's dive bombing the bed from her perch near the bedroom window. Occasionally she'll push her bed over the edge and stare at me with incredulity.
Have I mentioned that despite the virtues of pessimism, I really hate the feeling of dread especially when there's absolutely nothing to dread in the first place??? Well I just did mention it.
I had retired from organized crime and decided to open up a book store. The store was split in half with an adult section and a section geared towards everyone else. Each section was separated by a submerged, underground tube that people had to swim through to reach the other side. Fortunately the fluid did not get the customer wet or ruin comic books. A couple of local toughs showed up to get some street cred by roughing me up or killing me. I kicked one in the nuts, sending him flying into the tube. After judicious application of my boot, I drowned the fucker and set about beating the other kid to death then jamming the corpses in the tube.
Unfortunately the police showed up because someone ratted me out on the ruckus. While in the adult section, I busted out a rear window and squeezed through to a snowy parking lot where a gang of shadowy punks greeted me. Beset upon by the ruffians, I expired and scattered like so many snowflakes.
My consciousness discerned that mingled among the snowflakes were nanobots shaped like Chinese ideograms which swarmed and congealed into bizarre ASCII art and larger ideograms completely different from the smaller ones. Eventually I realized that I had been reconstructed by the diligent, molecular machines and the show was merely the observation of the processes. When I stared at my skin, I could read unremembered dream quotes and phrases and wisdom and nonsense that remains unremembered in waking life.
A frightening feeling of being completely at ease with murdering someone pervaded my thoughts. A reversal of Uncle Joe's maxim "One death is a tragedy; a million is a statistic" became my maxim.
She's so lovely.
