Hmmm....

What to say, what to say. The Spiritualist is over here right now, trying to get the kids to sleep. May be a slightly muddled process, her daughter is used to laying down with her, my daughter is used to being alone in the room. My guess is, when one starts to doze off, the other will begin. Running low on beer, this is a serious concern. Very serious. Bored. Hate the computer. Don't feel like typing, but it's better than reading the same posts over and over again. Refuse to expand to new bloggers, that'll just distract me on the times that I actually have something better to do. Could take a nice, long, summer's nights walk, appreciate the fact that I'm actually outside after dark, but that would involve busting in on the Spiritualist, trashing the bedtime process. Fuck.
I'm fucking bored. I hate evenings lately. (Read the last post.) I'm sick and tired of waiting for shit to happen. I might be just about the most laid back person on the face of the planet when it comes to scheduling, but when I want out, I Want Out.

Okay, I gotta quit dicking around. I know that you're gonna read this, and that my anger is abrupt, short lived, and often has nothing to do with the situation at hand, but this is my blog, my outlet, and I'm pissed now, so I'm gonna spew. And if you hold that against me, when you read this next week, and I've forgotten that I was ever pissed, well then, grow a back bone.
Babysitters are few and far between. I may ditch you without notice, and without a second thought, but that's different. What you sow, you shall reap. I, on the other hand, have to rustle up a babysitter to get out. Normally they flow by in the current, and one can be fetched if you happen to be paddling that current at that given time. To hook up a babysitter, with advanced notice, is a thing not just uncommon, but down right fucking miraculous. So if I have plans to go out some time tonight, some time tonight better fucking refer to tonight.
And before you get on your high horse, and figure you've gotten under my skin, refer, again, to the last post. This has nothing to do with you. Repeat, This Has Nothing To Do With You. I Want Out. And don't give me a fucking excuse to get out, then not follow through.

Okay, so you called. Still gonna post this; if you show me your thoughts, I'll show you mine.
And I've never deleted anything I've said, or photographed. One thing I've learned through life; no matter how momentary and passing, or how drunken and delusional, everything I think has been worth thinking.
Hopefully the walk down will cool me down enough I don't 'accidentally' spill my Spanish coffee on you when I get there.
I'm getting out. Out is good.