I discovered today that running on the sidewalk is A LOT harder than running on a treadmill. I mean, fuck, it should have been obvious to me, but wow. I miss the shocks on the treadmill, and the AC in the gym. I've been running half a mile and walking half a mile (after five miles on the stationary bike) at the gym all week, but i could barely make a half mile just now on the sidewalk.
Anyway, whatever. I made a cool discovery on my run. There was a punk band practicing in a house in the neighborhood. I could hear it a few houses down. Fuck yeah.
I just did a good deed. I had just vacuumed my girlfriend Hillary's new car when I thought "she needs floor mats." And then I went into the fiery pit of hell (Target) to get them for her.
On a serious note, the last book elizagirl sent me inspired this:
and now, for my birthday, these came in:
and
Sorry, not getting a Brian Posehn tattoo. Just can't do it.
Seriously though, my mantra for the last week or so has been "I want to die." I've been thinking a lot about that old Barritt song "Smile Upon The Stroke That Murders Me." Actually, more the title than anything. Last night as my brother and I were discussing depression, addiction, and anti-depressants, I said "if a car ran me down I wouldn't fight to stay alive."
And these gifts-- these tokens-- they really mean a lot to me. so thank you. It means the world.
I know, though, that the girl that bought me this shit for my birthday would be embarrassed to know that the DVD came with this grammar-savvy sticker:
Okay.
Forest Whitaker is in The Shield now and I swear he's a goddamn genius.
that's all.
