I’m pretty much fucked. That’s my considered opinion. Fucked.
Okay. Those aren’t my words. I just read them in this book, The Martian. But still that’s how I feel. Moreover, I just started that novel, but, now, I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to finish it. My phone is almost dead. My book is on my phone. I even had to delete that book app, and pretty soon I could be stuck in the mucking fother boondocks, shoulder deep in mud. No food. No water. No Google. No book. I very well may be doomed. Just like that guy in that novel who was left alone there on Mars for a while.
Well, maybe not that bad. But pretty close.
I have three rules for Facebook.
Thou shalt not, including but not limited to, post, share, expose, like, agree, oppose, expound on, spew, or contribute to anything Political.
Thou shalt not, including but not limited to, post, share, expose, like, agree, oppose, expound on, spew, or contribute to anything Religion.
Thou shalt not, including but not limited to, post, share, expose, like, agree, oppose, expound on, spew or contribute to anything Negative.
There’s really not much to read here.
But, wait, don’t go yet!
It’s just that I can’t write. Yep! This week and last week, actually.
Yeah…well… my hands are sore, my computer is slow and now my ergonomically correct wireless keyboard and mouse aren’t working. Yes, I did change the batteries.
But that’s not why.
It’s my brain.
Honestly. I don’t know that there is anything funny that comes out of assembling a piece of Ikea furniture.
The first time I ever put a piece of Ikea furniture together was years ago at a law firm where I worked. I was somewhere in my stupid-old 20’s. It was a small firm. A very, very small firm. My title? Jack-of-all-Trades. Apparently.