The Obscure

When I Was Puerto Rican...

In the morning, gonna get my things together
Pack it up and leave this place
I don't believe you'll cry, there'll be
A smile upon your face.

I love that song so damn much, everyone should buy a copy of This Was, and listen to it all the way through just to appreciate it, and then put Some Day the Sun Won't Shine For You on repeat for the rest of your lives.
It's times like this when I wish I could sing, instead of just making a fool of myself every time I suddenly start inexplicably singing that song, or one of the countless other songs I sing far too often for no reason other than that I like the songs themselves. You'd think that would be a good reason not to sing them, me not being able to sing and all, it would be more respectful for me not to bray out the words I love so much like a gentically enhanced, deaf, singing donkey.
Ah well, I knew a long time ago that I was no musician, I have accepted that.

I don't know what I came here to write about tonight, although I'm sure if I write long enough I'll get over the hump and the ideas will start flowing. It's not yet late enough for me to start thinking philosophically, after 1 a.m. I can't help it, even my conversations sound like I'm speaking paragraphs of some terrible philosophy book filled with acid-induced inner monologues. It's cool when I'm by myself, I don't have to get over the hump, I can just write and it flows out of me without me even thinking about it; but I think I'm sort of intolerable if there is anyone nearby to talk to.
I had a terrible headache all day, and it made me miss saying hello to Katie Hakala, which is very upsetting. But I am feeling ok now, which is probably the result of the far too many over-the-counter painkillers I have taken. I've probably got about 4500 milligrams of tylenol in my system right now. It starts to kill you after 8000, so I'm still safe, except for the whole... "long run" thing. I can't keep doing that, or it'll be like 50 years of alcoholism in 18 months worth of damage to my liver. Oh well, I'll burn that bridge when I come to it (though I hopefully never will).
I need a glass of water, don't begrudge me that, a man must drink!

A couple of years ago, my mother bought six extremely large plastic glasses at the Ocean State Job Lot or somewhere. They were huge, and exactly what I needed, because I could fill one of those up with water and it would be enough for a whole night. Well, some of them were broken in our old terrible dishwasher and I don't think the rest survived the move here, so I decided to buy another glass of roughly the same size so that I might continue to survive in the most convenient manner possible. I did so, but, as it turns out, this glass is far larger than those old plastic ones, may they rest in pieces (bada chish), so when I fill it up with water I feel badly about it, because the bottom third of it is always left out, and I can't drink water if it's left out over-night, it always has floaty crap in it. But, for some dumbass reason, I keep filling it up all the way anyway. Night after night, I waste an entire normal glass of water, and for some reason I can't understand, I am unable to stop the cycle.
Anyway, I couldn't get over the hump tonight, fellas. I'm tired and stuff and I know this was a terrible post but there is nothing to do about it now. See you all later!