It is, as of this writing, 8 of the clock (a gratuitous Dark Tower reference) in the morning of a Sunday. I’ve been awake for, say, three and a half hours. It’s going to be a bitch all day.

I did my weekly cleaning/cooking/washing/picking-up on saturday, since I didn’t have to work. After that, I indulged in a couple of internet conversations, a generous share of beverages, and one of my traditional “let’s see what roads Wikipedia leads me down to this time” adventures, which started with a genuine interest in reading the howabouts of the phrase “snake oil” and ended with me reading about Carl Jung’s writings about dreams.

I didn’t make it to the movies. Judging by my inability to leave home, I’ll watch Iron Man once the torrent is up.

I didn’t make it to the bar downtown. One of the downsides of starting to drink early. Or, better yet, having “pending” conversations on MSN.

Somewhere around 10 PM last night, I remembered I hadn’t watched WWE Backlash yet. I burned a DVD, put it into my player, and plopped my ass on THE AWFUL COUCH OF SLOTH. I swear, that couch is cursed. The funny part is, when you fold it out and try to sleep in it, you can’t.

I watched the first, um, 40 minutes of Backlash, before falling asleep. How I woke up at 4.30 in the morning, in my bed, is way beyond me. As I woke up, I had a quick decision to make. Go back to sleep and finish off my 8 hours of sleep at 7 AM, or go out for a smoke, pour another drink and watch the rest of Backlash. Naturally, I opted for option number two.

Since waking up, I watched the rest of that, watched stupid infomercials and a fishing show, and I recently ate the last contents of my “weekly cooking”.

I know I’m a good cook, but fuck! I had originally planned to make that for the whole week! As of right now, the contents of my stomach include – of course, cooked in their own deserving manner – 4 pork chops, 7 (SEVEN!) potatoes, two onions, a full head of garlic, three tomatoes, about two cups of frozen veggies, two flour tortillas, two slices of “diet” cheddar, a good amount of salsa (my favorite… habaneros, jalapeños and chipotles… with my secret recipe), a liter and a half of Bacardi Limon, and about half a gallon of Tropicana Banana-Orange-Strawberry blend.
The rest of the week, or even the month, I’ll bitch about tipping the scale at 200 pounds. But for now, I’m half-happy, half-surprised.
Hey, don’t judge me, If Scarlett Johansson/Halle Berry/whichever celebrity you happen to like was as available as my stir-fry was to me, you’d indulge, as well…

Since I’ve been awake, I’ve been thinking. “Contemplating, thinking about thinking”, Robbie Williams would say. I just got back from smoking a cigarette, and the dawn and the wind reminded me of the beach. The fucking beach where my previous life ended, but the beach I miss so damn much. La Pesca, Tamaulipas, Mexico.

Yesterday, in between tasks, I had to run out to the supermarket. Alas, I was all out of salsa, so I needed supplies. And, Tropicana solvents. Being that I was in the proximity of a Zellers (think walmart), I decided to purchase a pair of sunglasses.
I kind of flirted, and it kind of backfired.
See, somehow, I decided to model the pair of sunglasses I intended to purchase. It wasn’t necesarily flirting, more of a searching for an ego stroke. I asked the cashier, “before I buy this, how do they look?”
Her response, was that “they” (the glasses) looked good. She cleverly avoided mentioning what I looked like while wearing them. Ouch.

Such is my life. Shitty as it may be, I feel happy, for the moment. Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” is playing, my glass is half full, and if I feel the need to smoke again, the weather will provide memories.

I’m the only one on my MSN list to appear online. Everyone I love, or care for, is sound asleep right now. From a non-religious point of view, God bless them.

The Iceberg.