Wherein I remove my street windbreaker and replace it with my house caftan, slip off those disdainful loafers for some laidback sneakers, and cordially invite you to be my neighbor and smoke a bowl with me.
This may be the weed talking, but I'm really glad I started this "blog." It's like a personal diary I can write in at the end of each episode as I gaze outside to the moon, like in that Disney Channel show with a pre-coke Brittany Murphy. What was it called? Anywho, but it's good to have a medium to communicate through. After all, isn't this what living in the future is supposed to be? Well, a real live future and not some anti-Utopian hell where we're all drugged up and happy. We're all drugged up and pissed. Just as long as we're drugged up, though, I'm fine.
For the first time in, really, forever, everyone has a voice and can be heard. And I choose mine to write mildly humorous postings during the time I should be working--and if my bosses are reading this, I am totally working right now, I'm just on a lunch break. And I'm not high.
Hopefully, I won't tire of this in three days and pursue my next great hobby, ceramic dolls of 70s Disco Queens. Though no one ever said I couldn't do both.
"Almost Home"! That's the name of the goddamn show!
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