Once again, I find myself blogging from what I have to assume is the Midwest's most profoundly tacky store. There's country on the radio and, softly in the distance, I can hear their discount windchimes tinkling, powered by a nice boxfan that keeps them moving.
The heavy stench of $5.95 fudge hangs in the air along with the heady reek of my own expectation:
What will I find this time?
If you haven't guessed, I am on my way out to the wheat to visit the paternal unit for Thanksgiving. I have been assured that I will be, upon first light on Friday, finding myself on my father's roof stapling Christmas lights to his home.
The fact that copious amounts of beer have been purchased will surely factor into this equation.
When I am able, I shall return.
Until then, I remain,
Domonic (perhapsthereisanicepolyresinSt.FrancisofAssisitobefound) Potorti
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
candle...burning...at both ends...
Little-known fact: Edna St. Vincent Millay is a Rockland, Maine, native.
I still live, but in what misshapen, soulless form? Every moment of every day has been corrupted by thoughts of my thes*s and my impending academic demise.
Wake up to wretched Stevie Wonder "song" on clock-radio alarm: think about thes*s.
Barely-woken urination: think about thes*s.
Drive forty miles to work behind tractor trailer and Asian woman with parking brake on and right blinker flashing: think about thes*s.
Work all day: think about thes*s.
Drive home behind man with car that is rolling on four spares: think about thes*s.
Eat ghastly dinner: think about thes*s.
Attempt to corral unruly, neurotic pets: think about thes*s.
Writing thes*s: think about thes*s.
Pass out from exhaustion: think about thes*s.
It's been a good time - and, to answer, no, it's not done. Don't ask.
In the interim, please browse my 300+ entries, which are archived by month on the side here.
For those who have been faithfully following for the past two years, post a response and tell me what your favorite blog was. I will remove the hyperbole varnish and tell you the REAL story behind it if there is one. I say this because I always endeavor to speak only the truth.
*snort*
Until later, I remain,
Domonic (prettymuchprayingtobeimmolatedbyathunderbolt) Potorti
I still live, but in what misshapen, soulless form? Every moment of every day has been corrupted by thoughts of my thes*s and my impending academic demise.
Wake up to wretched Stevie Wonder "song" on clock-radio alarm: think about thes*s.
Barely-woken urination: think about thes*s.
Drive forty miles to work behind tractor trailer and Asian woman with parking brake on and right blinker flashing: think about thes*s.
Work all day: think about thes*s.
Drive home behind man with car that is rolling on four spares: think about thes*s.
Eat ghastly dinner: think about thes*s.
Attempt to corral unruly, neurotic pets: think about thes*s.
Writing thes*s: think about thes*s.
Pass out from exhaustion: think about thes*s.
It's been a good time - and, to answer, no, it's not done. Don't ask.
In the interim, please browse my 300+ entries, which are archived by month on the side here.
For those who have been faithfully following for the past two years, post a response and tell me what your favorite blog was. I will remove the hyperbole varnish and tell you the REAL story behind it if there is one. I say this because I always endeavor to speak only the truth.
*snort*
Until later, I remain,
Domonic (prettymuchprayingtobeimmolatedbyathunderbolt) Potorti
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