Monday Morning Forehead Slap - or - Spelling Career Correctly

It’s 8am on Monday. I had a shitty week last week. I spelled career wrong and got called out by Em. I nuked a bridge that was made out of kindling and gasoline and I will most likly never speak with her again. Two of my ex-s called me. One of them hung up before I could pick up the phone. The other one told me not to try to get in touch with her, even though we haven't spoken in years. I stopped communicating with a coworker because I finally figured out that he is not the friend I took him for, but rather that he is simply a dick and having no contact is better than dealing with his variety of bullshit. Things changed Saturday night when I finished a 12 hour work day with a visit from a very good friend who is the drummer in a world touring rock duo called The Black Diamond Heavies. We had a bourbon and soda while sitting on the edge of the stage, laughing, talking, and calling each other "mna". I was two hours late for work the next day and dragged ass all day long. At 6pm yesterday, I got out of work and went straight to bed. I woke up a few minutes ago, refreshed, recharged, rejuvenated, revitalized, and reborn.

I feel great.



I’m going for a morning run to the beach to watch the sunrise. Fuck last week. This week is going to be sweet. I’m going to a record breaking gathering of Groucho Marx look alikes in Millennium Park on Tuesday, I’ve got tickets to see Elvis Costello on Wednesday, I’ve got a show with Tripp and the Irish band at Fado on Thruday, I and I finally have a weekend off so that I can bum around the museums and venues of Chicago on my own time. I think I’ll try smiling again. Thanks for putting up with me last week. I’ll try not to pull that emo crap again. Cheers.