Friday, June 04, 2004

The Big Chill-Out

The weekend is nigh. Two days off. Free from the shackles of any kind of salaried obligation, and an opportunity for me to kick back, Ferris Bueller style. This weekend is more valuable to me than a Faberge egg, because from Monday, I’m working twelve days straight without a break, a lie-in, a financial incentive or any kind of gratitude from my lack wit, tight-wad employers.

Fuck.

So, I’m sitting here, watching the minutes tick away before I can run into the street like a kid hopped up on Sunny Delight, daydreaming about how I can fill the next two days of ignorant bliss.

I’m finally going to have the chance to scrape the hair of my face that has been accumulating for the last two weeks. I’m starting to look like Grizzly Adams.

I can sit on the couch with a big-ass pile of comics by my side, and the smell of fresh coffee caressing my nostrils like a geisha girl.

I can actually spend some time with Mrs. AKA, stroking her maternal belly and saying whatever I want, without worrying about how it sounds.

I can sit huddled over my laptop, stabbing out words of staggering profundity, heart-breaking beauty, and mind-polluting deviance.

I can watch all the movies my reddened eyes can stand.

I can listen to great music, instead of the sounds of feeble minds trying to articulate inchoate thoughts that don’t deserve to ooze out of their twisted mouths.

I can lie in the bath sculpting my hair into a Mohawk with shampoo, just watching the windows steam up.

I can’t wait. Nearly there, nearly there.

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