Maybe

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Maybe I'd better get some sleep, you know?  Maybe I'd better straighten up, get my shit together.  Delete facebook, maybe.  Nobody likes me there, anyway.  Maybe I should kill my laptop.  Maybe I should SHUT UP, because there isn't anyone listening anyway.

Maybe I should stop shitting on the neighbors.  Maybe I should stop hurling dead animals into their yards.  Maybe I should wear a SMILE on my face at work instead of a GRIN.  Perhaps I should stop making Greg the racist drink out of the hot tub at parties. 

Maybe I should walk.  Be one of those people walking, even if I have been against that sort of thing in the past.  Maybe I should stop taking Nigel's advice, even if it makes me GRIN until people move to the other side of the bus.  Maybe I should stop horse-laughing at zealots.

Perhaps I should take up meditation and clear my chakras.  Maybe I oughta stop calling our engineer "blow hole".  Maybe I should stop trying to be the last gunslinger in the last city that remembers who Jimmy Stuart was, and why he was always drunk.

Maybe I should stop pouring my bourbon into a glass.  Who am I fooling, here?  That bottle is going DOWN, and I'm NOT SHARING, so why not just cut out the middle man?  Maybe I should re-develop my peyote habit.  Perhaps I should just accept the fact that a few of my friends are gone, at least the friendship is gone, and maybe, you know, move on with my life.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I don't listen to Nigel's advice RIGHT.  Perhaps I am DOING IT WRONG.  Like the GOP, I am just not being the way I am ENOUGH, and the resulting disconnect is why the neighbors all think I conduct human sacrifices in the back yard.  Which I'm not.  As far as you know.

Maybe it's not my behavior, but ME.  I may very well be a different breed, some sort of horrible mutant.  Some one-off that God reconsidered after the fact.  Not For The Production Lines.  Send it to Tucson, where we can all safely forget about this most unfortunate incident.  Even God gets embarrassed sometimes.

Maybe I'm in Hell.  This would distress many people, but not me.  No, all that Hell means is that the worrying is over.  Here you are, may as well get your weird on.  May as well be good and fucking disreputable and scare six kinds of shit out of the neighbors.  They never liked me, and I never liked them...It's a working arrangement, everyone is comfortable with it.

Maybe we should just all forget that this thread was ever written. 

Maybe I should get some fucking sleep.

Or Kill Me.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

As much as the alternatives fill me with sheer, unbridled gleeeeeeee...

Yeah, probably sleep would be the wise option.   

[The Good Reverend Roger]

As much as the alternatives fill me with sheer, unbridled gleeeeeeee...

Yeah, probably sleep would be the wise option.   

Just as soon as the wagons are circled and things are caught up.  I'll do it then.  Really, I will.  I'll sleep for a day, I'll sleep for a month.  Then.  Right now, I must drink coffee and scream into the phone and abuse vendors and tell my peers to SHUT UP SHUT UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SHUT UP.

And then Kathy and Jenn will drag me down to Nogales tonight, "We'll be back WAY before bedtime, honest", and tomorrow will be a better longer day, full of fresh fears scrawled on horror's scrolls.  And I will then, as I do now, sit in my office and dream of quiting.  Of just getting in my car and driving East on I-10 until I run out of gas.  It's pretty out there, or so I have heard.

And if I don't get any sleep before tomorrow?  Then there's nothing to do but dance, right?  Shake my ass while the critical lift is going on, wiggle wiggle wiggle.

All I need is a bed.  For only 3 hours.  Just to catch my breath.  Just to get my shit straight.  Just a tiny, tiny bit of sleep.  Then I'll be fine.

[Faust]

Fucking hell, would you promise to at least try and get 6? Any less then that and though I might be moving and words come out of my mouth, I'm not really here.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Fucking hell, would you promise to at least try and get 6? Any less then that and though I might be moving and words come out of my mouth, I'm not really here.

But this is Tucson.  You're HERE when you're not all THERE.  Physically as well as mentally.

And just as soon as the horrible wave of failure rolls back out to sea, I shall sleep the sleep of the just.

Note:  I am 408 miles from the ocean, this might take a few minutes.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

When people want to party and I want to sleep, people have to fuck right off 'cause Mama needs her beauty rest.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

When people want to party and I want to sleep, people have to fuck right off 'cause Mama needs her beauty rest.

When Jenn wants something, Jenn gets it.

Because I am a total sucker for her.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

When people want to party and I want to sleep, people have to fuck right off 'cause Mama needs her beauty rest.

When Jenn wants something, Jenn gets it.

Because I am a total sucker for her.

You gotta do what you gotta do. 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

When people want to party and I want to sleep, people have to fuck right off 'cause Mama needs her beauty rest.

When Jenn wants something, Jenn gets it.

Because I am a total sucker for her.

You gotta do what you gotta do. 

Yep.  And it's not like she's negligent or overly-demanding or anything.  90% of the time, I am left to my own devices.  But when she wants to party in Nogales, well, it would be unfair of me to say no.

The only problem is that her desire to do so comes in clusters.  I am in the middle of one such cluster.

[Eater of Clowns]

Maybe if I rub my eyes enough that film will come off of them, the used and stained one that dulls the outside and turns it yellow. Maybe when I'm with family and friends and coworkers they'll stop using that look that says they know something is wrong but they don't know what they can do about it. Maybe the next time I look in a passing car there will be a person inside driving it. Maybe the wind blasted road salt and sand and grime will scour clean those bared teeth and everyone will be too distracted by the pocked pearly whites to notice the panic in my eyes that I'll never be able to drop the grimace again, long after my lips are chapped to shreds and my teeth are worn to brittle chicken bones and my gums are shriveled flesh mockeries.

[Eater of Clowns]

Fuck I'm going for a run, writing even that bit down put me in A State.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Maybe the next time I look in a passing car there will be a person inside driving it.

I'm not even picky if the person driving it is alive.

[Eater of Clowns]

Maybe the next time I look in a passing car there will be a person inside driving it.

I'm not even picky if the person driving it is alive.

At first it looks like a trick, sun glaring off a windshield. The starburst of light hovering right where the driver's face should be. It's bright and the windows are all tinted so the driver's hard to see but of course there is one. There must be. Cars do not drive without people.

But they aren't driving. They're just moving. We built for them these vast tracts, little veins pumping economy and that's where they belong, on the roads, and moving is what they're made to do on them. So they move, not drive. Engines sounding quieter and quieter until there is no sound from them at all, just the myriad creaks and groans of steel and plastic and rubber against the pavement veins.

They're moving with time, with the infinite man hours poured into their creation and the infinite geological hours poured into their fuel tanks. They're moving with the memory of every little groove in the road on the only routes they ever took:  home to work, work to home.

A million years from now the successors to the failed homo sapien experiment will dig them up and know us as machine herders and steel shepherds, fool gods survived by our creations. No extinction event. Just seven billion people fading.

[Ben Shapiro]

When people want to party and I want to sleep, people have to fuck right off 'cause Mama needs her beauty rest.

When Jenn wants something, Jenn gets it.

Because I am a total sucker for her.

You gotta do what you gotta do. 

Yep.  And it's not like she's negligent or overly-demanding or anything.  90% of the time, I am left to my own devices.  But when she wants to party in Nogales, well, it would be unfair of me to say no.

The only problem is that her desire to do so comes in clusters.  I am in the middle of one such cluster.

Inject Monser Rehab into your balls!

I can't say no to Jewcat, and it's even worse whenever /b/inks needs something.
At least you have Mike to laugh at every morning!