Some days just aren’t worth waking up for.

It’s worse when it’s a Monday and I have to shuffle my feet out of bed and through my morning coffee and put on clothes that are too hot to wear. I’d rather spend the day on the xbox 360 or on my couch marathon-ing Lipstick Jungle and Cougar Town.

I sound bratty, I know. Some people don’t have jobs etc etc.

On a lighter note: four days ’til the weekend.

A poem:

The Quiet World (Jeffrey McDaniel)

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

And a photo:

Special chicken chelo kebab half-swimming in garlic/white sauce. If this grosses you out, you’re not eating your special chicken chelo kebab right.