An Open Letter To Someone Far Away - or - It's Tuesday

It’s Tuesday. I’m drunk before 11pm, which is uncommon. Usually it takes a lot longer for m e to be drunk on a Tuesday. I was gonna call you. I probably still will, but I might lose all motorcation when I hit the pillow. Motorcation is motivation with clutch and a gas pedal. I don't have a gas pedal. I’m that drunk. It’s not because I drank a lot. It’s because there is no such thing as spring here. A week ago it was barely 60° and today it was 95°. Beer and bourbon hit a lot harder when it’s hotter. Tomorrow is gonna be hotter. Tomorrow I'm not going to drink beer and bourbon. Drinking on Wednesday doesn't seem as sexy, as pointless, as obsquatch. I work in a green house which adds about 20°to the outside temperature, not to mention the humidity... oh yeah, this is all F not C because we don’t catch on fire or anything. The boss gets a bit pissy when he is hot. His wife gets worse, and for some reason, she hates me. We have an unspoken agreement; she will yell at me for no reason and I will ignore her and say thank you when she is done. You should call me, because I might just pass out before I call you. Tomorrow I don’t have to work until noon but I’m gonna catch up on sleep tongith, after I do or don’t call you, because of the complet lack of spring. Typing with one eye is not as easy as drinking with one eye. Not that I have one eye, I’m just only using one. I should call you, but I’m gonna finish this first, then maybe take a cold shower and pass out in front of the AC with Ollie, my three tweek dog sittie. He likes you, I know it. You’ve never seen where I work, I like it, just not the boss’ wife, when it’s hot, cause she is a bitch. I don’t like her most of the time, but who fucking cares. You should come over and we’ll get a drink. Or rather, I’ll be drunk and you’ll be here to laugh at me. I’m totally gonna call you right now, unless I pass out. Holy crap, I've lost my phone.