Tag: soup

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personal

Time¬=Money; Time>Money

Time isn’t money; time is so much more valuable than money

Antique clock

 

To add to the list of things that have the air of truth to them but no real truth at all, lemme give you one I particularly despise: Time Equals Money.

A buddy of mine put up this thing quoting just that and it reminded me that that’s gotta be one of the stupidest beliefs a body could hold.

Time is so much more valuable than money. Money, you can make and spend; time you can only spend.

Put another way, if given X years to live, how much would you pay for one more year?

Any idiot can make a buck. But in 432,329,886,000,000,000 seconds, no one’s figured out how to make an extra second for themselves.

Working at jobs you hate, to buy things you don’t need, to impress those you don’t know. That’s crazy.

So, if given the chance to make an extra $1,000 or go see your grandma, go see your grandma.

I didn’t and I gotta live with that for all of the seconds I got left.

———-

Sick again. You know the drill, please send soup.

Location: in bed
Mood: sick
Music: with you I’m having a good time I don’t mind
YASYCTAI: At least give her a call. (10 mins/1 pt)

Categories
personal

Logan’s 36/Say Anything

Location: noon, yest, midtown
Mood: stressed
Music: don’t know if our fate’s already sealed

Airplane Window at sunset

Two observations: (1) Got no fewer than four friends with relationships on the rocks; (2) I always get hit on more in the spring.

Think they’re related: it’s spring cleaning. People wanna be out and about maybe, capitalize on the weather, see what else’s out there.

As for Heartgirl and me, well, last weekend was just perfect. And we both know that perfect and I don’t work well together; she’s still tired of hearing me talk. But I’d like to see how our story goes.

There was a time when bad things happened to you, you put on a black mourning jacket as a quiet testament to your sorrow. Nowadays, it’s a lotta status updates, vitriol and poor grammar.

That’s why I try to sort things out before I write about them. Waited almost a month before I told you about the theft. And three months after my initial breakup to tell you about it. Need time to make sure something’s actually something and not a whole lotta nuthin. Wonder if I can still tell the diff.

Everyone’s got a place where they go to sort things out. King Midas had his reeds. Lloyd Dobler had his friends.

Me? I keep thinking that I’d like to go elsewhere, and still not necessarily somewhere and tell them my story. Cause who’d believe it? But since I can’t, suppose I got this here blog. Write it for me more than anyone.

But it’s my birthday and I get to make a request, yeah? I don’t ask for much, don’t think: world peace, some soup from time-to-time, the occasional call…

My request is this: who’s still reading? Yeah, I’ve got my stalwart group of people that comment and drop by with regularity (thanks guys) but I’m curious if it’s just them.

In my head, I imagine there’re people that never comment yet read me regardless.

So, just like last year and the time before: wish me a happy birthday and say something, all of you bastards that read me but never say anything.

Logan Lo

YASYCTAI: Comment. (5 mins/0.5 pts)

Categories
personal

Life – Real and otherwise

Location: 21:00 yest, turning onto Northern Blvd.
Mood: sick
Music: I’ve fallen from my nest so high above Help me fly I am too afraid try

So either my parents are reading my blog, someone’s telling them about it, or they’re eerily perceptive. I’ve been crashing with them when I get out past 21:30.

Him: Sit down, I wanna write you something. (writes) This is from Mencius. Before Life decides to give greatness onto someone, she’ll test them first – she’ll make them suffer. It’s suffering that gives you depth and wisdom.
Me: Thanks but…why’re you telling me this now?

Him: (shrugging) You got home so late. I thought you should know.

Her: Do you want some rum?

Me: (shocked) What?

Her: I like rum. I’ve got the spiced kind for some rum cakes and one from Brazil. Do you like rum?

Me: (long pause) A little.

Really, really weird.

———-

I wonder if you and I’d get along in real life.

I’m told I’m funny and smell nice in RL; I’m also told I get moody right quick and disappear for months – years, sometimes. But I’d call or write – or at least wonder how you were. Honest.

It’s probably better you just come to this blog and find out what I’m up to, shug, and go, Eh, about the same.

Speaking of the same, I’m sick again. Send soup?

Categories
personal

Red rum on the rocks with a slice of orange

“You awake?” she asked

Once again, I’m gonna ask you to send me soup.

Every time I go through these two week periods with little sleep and lots of work, I worry about getting sick. And then I get sick.

Dammit.

With nods to Sabatoa, Katsmw, Furison, and everyone who’s asked me this in real life – I have this conversation almost every weekend:

Him: Nasty. Why rum?
Me: I like the taste of a good aged rum, like a Cruzan or Montecristo. Plus it’s got the least amount of carbohydrates, acetaldehyde and congeners so you can drink buckets of the stuff and never get a gut, a hangover, or into a fight. (pause) Also, I like to pretend I’m a pirate – YAAARRRRRG!

———-

Her: (whispering) Are you awake?
Me: (sleepily) I’m always awake.

Location: back in my black chair
Mood: both sick & tired
Music: Around a quarter to two I have remembered all of my lines
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