Last week was three weeks long and yesterday was at least a week. Can't seem to get a good sleep on. It's only Tuesday and I'm exhausted. I went out of my way to find cupcakes for breakfast, ("energizing frosting!" I told myself), which was a valiant effort from the little internal rally-maker, but of course only made me feel worse in the end.
I wonder what it will be that will keep me awake tonight, flopping around like a flounder. The impending and fiery end of the world? Or just the demise of world as I know it? Wondering which of my few and dear friends will be next to shank me in the tuchas (translator for goyim: Stab in the Ass)? Or maybe the tickle of this mornings congealing frosting as it makes a new home on my hips?
I almost can't wait for the next thing (embarrassment? bombing?) to happen so at least it will be overwith. Because it's become clear that it's just a matter of when.
At least my name isn't Simson Garfinkel.
At least there's that.