Oh, the things we people, up with do put. No prepositions in the wrong place for me. I am writing on my new lap top or notebook as they are wont to call these things nowadays.
It is no easy being cool. The keyboard is smaller and I put all kinds of things into play.
I am having a devil of a day, one that I hope doesn't repeat itself but of course it will and it will be worse some day down the road.
I absolutely wish that it were January 5, one month from now. I want to see Malia very much but the worsening in my ears and brain have two weeks to continue before we leave for Vancouver. If I didn't have that goal in my head I wonder what I would be like emotionally. When the trip is over I will have no specific goals and I most likely will be in a terrible mess with head noise. The past 24 hours have been hours to try this man's soul, I know that.
The Broncos stunk again, just to add to my misery.
How convenient it would be to say "pray for me" but there is no son of a bitch to pray to so I am stuck with, "Damn, this sucks!"
Wish I had someone to hold me and just one time say how awful I feel. I am on my own, not the first person to be in this state of mind, but that doesn't make it feel any better. This blog is the crappiest word processor. I never know where the cursor really is, until I start typing.
Anyway, dear Brute, you s.o.b., I wish you would stick the knife into something vital instead of only twisting it now and then to make my life miserable, you miserable maggotous mass.
Brute - the asshole who makes me feel this way.
Where is the stinking cursor?
There is nothing new to write, life is pretty much a piece of shit today and overall it is getting worser. And I am all alone. I whine to the tempests of the ether and the abyss.
Bye bye.
Mr. Peterdactyl
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