Journaling June: Just Wait for the Chicken

Ten piece Popeyes meal deal.

Late Friday afternoons are the The Tempting Times. After a week’s worth of whores’ shit all I can think about is whatever thing I’ve wanted but denied myself in the pursuit of being “good.” This week it was Popeye’s fried chicken.

I left work 15 minutes early to get a head start on traffic. I was still suffering flashes of sitting in traffic from the 2 hour nightmare the day before.

(there was an emergency repair that necessitated blocking all but one lane of the six lane highway.)

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Journaling June: Thursdays

Street art cartoon guy with three eyes looking to his left.

“I never could get the hang of Thursdays.” —Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Thursdays are awkward. Assuming you live in the Monday-Friday “work week,” Thursday is part of the downward slope to freedom, i.e. the weekend. Yet it is still far enough away that there’s not much excitement about Thursday, not like with Friday. Thursday is like being two customers back in the 8 items or less line. The person at the register is critically old and has just pulled out his coin purse to count out exact change. The person in front of you is holding a half gallon jug of milk in one hand, thumbing his checkbook with the other.

Somehow I’ve always felt an affinity for Thursdays. They just seem right despite being out of wack. Don’t get me wrong, weekends are far superior, but of the week days, Thursday has always been my favorite.

(which broke our heart when we read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.)

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Journaling June: The Weather Outside is Frightful

Our dogs, Huck and Domino, snuggling at the foot of our bed.

It is here, the disgustingly hot of Summer. It’s Houston, TX, so there’s still a few more degrees to add on, but for all intents and purposes it’s blue blazes outside.

I’ve moved into the bedroom, forsaking the rest of the house unless it is absolutely necessary—kitchen for food, garage for laundry or going out. Forget everything else. When the mercury reads 100+ degrees outside our A/C can, at best, get the house down to 80. Several years ago we purchased a rolling A/C unit to put in the bedroom. R2, as it’s affectionately known (thought it looks more like R5-G19, along with two oscillating fans, keep my polar-bear-with-gravy-for-blood fat ass from melting.

(we could not have survived before electricity. we’d have lost our shit and had to be put down.)

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