Am tired.

Am considering moving to Bolivia, if for no other reason than it is far away from here and has a catchy name.

Also the undeniable allure of cheap blow.

Am momentarily (hopefully) tired of people, as they complain too much*, tend not to say what they mean, and are entirely too much work to live with or spend time near on a daily basis.

Am overfilling a beer mug and dripping beer on the carpet.

Have been spilling beer a lot lately.

Am considering writing a novel in list form at it is clearly an underused format with boundless potential.

Am still laughing at Rob professing to have an “an old war buddy.”

Perhaps this is funnier if you know Rob.

Have work left to do tonight.

Am done.

* Complaining in and of itself is fine. It is the bedrock of civilization, or at the very least, of my existence. It’s the people who complain incessently and refuse to do anything themselves, who back out of opportunities to complain to the people who can change things, that bother me.

If you’re reading this carefully (and you are likely not) you should be frightfully flattered. I am after all, complaining to you, thus implying that you are someone who matters.

Don’t let it go to your head.