That, there, is a mushroom penis. a fungal penile growth under my foxglove. This perfectly represents my mood and state of mind. Think of this mushroom as a finger throwing you some major fuckitude. Not the kind you take to bed and get naked with, the kind that chains you up inside the dumpster of your ignorance and self-righteousness until something better starts to grow in it.
Why I love swearing: Because it’s a beautiful expression of angst, anger, and grand fuckery, of which there is an unending supply in this world.
I’m full of unexpressed anger today. The tiniest whiff of disrespect, arrogance, or bullshit is all it will take to set my whole pile of anger on fire.
I laid on my couch when I came home from work yesterday for 3 hours trying not to let myself cry. I was successful, as I nearly always am at suffocating it. While telling Max about my day I told him I was still on the verge of crying, but not because I was sad or hurt and he said “You mean rage crying”. Indeed, son. Don’t have to explain much to that kid of mine.
This is one of those days I want to run away into the woods (the kind without many ticks) and never come back. Or perhaps find a cave to live in. My family could visit me there and admire my long thin beard hair and the earthy unwashed skin-veneer of sediment and leaf mold.
My friend Hayley inspired a new life theme song and it goes like this:
His dongle dangling in the breeeeeeze as he cartwheels off a cold trapeeeeeeeeze….
If you don’t have your own theme song I suggest you start working on one today. I’m going to be singing that in my head all morning. Especially if I spot the very special human this song refers to.
Hide your dried-up nut-sacks from my siiiiiiiiiiiiiight before I tie them to my kiiiiiiiiiiiiite…
Seriously, this shit writes itself.
And tempt the hungry winter crooooooooooows to take a big-ass biiiiiiiiiiiiite….
Time for work, folks.