Chronos: Bastard!

Time, time, time, never enough of it. No time to romp with the mancub, to paint, to read, to sculpt, to write, to blog. Why is it that life takes away the things we love? Why do we stand for it? Discuss amongst yourselves.

I had a feeling

that this was going to happen sooner or later. Out of nowhere, as I was wrapping up my paperwork this morning, sweat began pouring off of me and collecting in puddles at my feet. My head exploded with pain, I began shaking uncontrollably, my legs buckled, and down I went. The plant manager called 911 and I was whisked off to what is perhaps the worst hospital in the United States. Apparently, the stress, lack of sleep, and malnutrition had caught up with me and this was my body's way of telling me enough was efuckingnough already. Of course, the stress and sleeplessness and financial meltdown won't go away, so I guess I'll just keep going.

I'd really appreciate the prayers and positive vibes of anyone reading this. I've got an interview for a much better (DAY SHIFT!) job on Monday.

Bleh.

Well, out of the 25 or so people we were expecting for the party, 2 showed up. Fine, I can understand that some had trouble finding a babysitter, but come on. Oddly, I really didn't mind. We still had a really good time. I drank far too much alcohol and stayed up far too late - something I haven't been able to do for a very long time.

Is this what happens when you reach your third decade? None of your friends have the energy to party any more? It wasn't all that long ago that all I'd have to do was whisper "keg" and people would show up in droves to carouse. It seems as though all those wonderful black-clad gothites I used to know have traded in their Doc Martens for Dockers and joined the sunlit world's workaday herd.

At least I have my memories.