I'm sitting here on the couch, Dave is dozing across the room. Jim Morrison is singing on the stereo. "The man is at the door...." No, there is no man at the door. I drink my tea: earl grey, luke warm.
This is just another night of sitting here on the couch with my laptop in front of me, time passing by me hour after hour. I don't want to get off my ass and do anything. I'm too tired. And it appears Dave is too. I turn off all social networking linkages. I don't want to be bothered. What's happening to me? I can feel the hair on my head turning gray as I write this. Too early to go to sleep, too tired to do anything else. Tomorrow is Saturday. Where the hell did this week go? It seems like only yesterday I was thinking, "damn, it's monday, fuck." Well, "damn, it's friday, fuck."
