I have no desire to leave my house today. The Outlook Calendar, which serves as somewhat of a guiding force to me, is reminding me that I'm an hour behind schedule.
I said to someone that "this whole week has sucked fucking ass." I was reminded that it was only Tuesday. As of Sunday I have: been dumped(ish) by a girl that I was seeing, ended up in a dump(ster) where I dropped my keys [wouldn't have mentioned the girl, but I liked the parenthetical device with 'dump'], been stiffed for cash, been possibly fucked over by family, I have to disappoint someone by cancelling my performing of their wedding, watched water drip from the ceiling through a leak I thought I'd fixed, and I think my cat hates me because of the work being done on the house.
I drank too much last night at Trivia night at a local bar. It's okay, because we won. My vast gay knowledge of pop music carried us to victory in a game that included categories like: "English Novels" and "World War I." After those two, I thought the next category would be "Shit that Gooch Does Not Know."
It would make sense. It would also be fitting for the FUCKED week I'm having.
goochthefuckout.
UPDATE: I still haven't left the house. I think I have some sort of paranoia thing working against me. It's like, if I leave then it just gives the world another opportunity to fuck me over. I'm here with my unaffectionate cat, cable television, and internet porn. What more do I need?
Oh yeah. Cash.
Cash rules everything around me. CREAM. Get the money. Dollar dollar bills. Y'all.
Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nothing to Fuck With.
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