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I panic.,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]
I've forgotten all about it.
He spent six hundred dollars to take the two of us to one of those stupid 'be-all-you-can-be' seminar things.
I'd prefer kick myself in the head with a cmd.
Whatever the inverse of excitement is, that's what I'm sensibility.
I so don't wanna go.
I open the door and it's my annoyingly happy, well-adjusted, squeaky-clean buddy.
Just looking at his stupid, merry face annoys me.
We enter into some meaningful
"Wadda you doing here you idiot."
"Man you stench... have you coiled in something?"
"Shut up."
"Love you buddy... ready to go?"
"Go where?"
"Dude, today's the daytime... "
"I liked you more when you were a miserable alcoholic... go where?"
"C'mon, today's that workshop I bought you for your birthday.. it starts in forty five minutes."
I open my left eye hoping that it might stop the pain emanating from behind it.
It doesn't.
Another thump, different stab.
I shuffle my sorry self into an upright location.
Slowly.
First sitting and then standing.
Mr. Happy is always acquainting me that my messy, dis-organised house is a metaphor for my life.
I'm not actually sure what a metaphor is... and I prefer not apt inquire.
I understand it can't be agreeable.
I know he method well and I know there's a few things I may need to change,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but he really doesn't know the
All of a sudden I'm re-thinking my whole 'anti-gun' stance.
Fhardly everme reason the alternative of owning a shotgun seems a lot extra reasonable today than it did yesterday.
I put my foot in what looks like an nearly blank ice-cream bowl.
Can't be sure because I can't really discern but.
I meditation I have Cookies 'n' Cream on my big toe.
I don't quite have my balance.
I'm swaying like the old Willow tree in my Grandfather's yard.
I'm instantly wide {awake|awake}.
And grumpy.
I consider feigning a stroke.. but I don't really know what a stroke is.
I feel like smashing him over the pate with one of his stupid self-help books.
But he does martial masterpieces and has abs, so that's out of the answer.
My mind is racing (okay, no very racing) merely I have no pretext and he's knows when I'm lying.
And I lie a lot.
I ascertain it saves period and heart-ache.
For everyone.
I think I smell bad but I'm not sure.
I probably do.
My senses are not fully operational.
They take a when to warm up.
Just like my seventeen year-old Ford.
It's seven forty five Saturday a.m. and I am act my best to linger in my present state of being; unconscious,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], hung-over, motionless, cozy, curtate.
Unfortunately as me, something or as it would corner out, something, is devastating my calm with incessant thumping on my front gate.
Every blow is accompanied at a sharp stabbing pain behind my left eye.
"Man, if anybody needs this, you do... prep stinky."
"What I need is a best friend who isn't such a pain in the ass."
"If you keep up with your crap you'll have no friends... get in the shower"
The banging persists and so does the pain behind my left eye.
I am still wearing my trace jeans from last night.
Inside out.
I don't know why.
The ruckus from the front door continues.
I fantasize almost slaying the human on the other side with my bare hands.
And if I wasn't a portly, unfit coward with no fighting capabilities, I might fair do it.
For a moment, I'm Jason Bourne.
But only a moment.
Back to reality and I struggle towards the front door from my smelly nocturnal shrine, leaving a viscous trail of Cookies 'n' Cream on the carpet behind me.
Like a spoiled five annual old, I sulk my direction to the lavatory.
The water on my neck is so peppery and relaxing namely I nearly fall comatose standing up.
My knees buckle and I horrify myself.
My heart races and I get the piercing pain entire in a moment.
This time behind both eyes.