The only bar I can walk to....

As Hitchcock would say, good evening. I haven't been on the blog…though it's not for lack of trying. I'm actually writing this on my Blackberry at the Winghouse. Currently, Britany Spears' homogenized, synthesized voice blares annoyingly over, around and through my head and I marvel at…but not by much.. at how much she sounds like Chris Brown. Across the bar from me is a man with blue-ish green tattoos from his sideburns down to his hands. He is completely covered in tats, except for his face, which could use some. There are huge, black, disc-like objects embedded in his ears, each about the size of a coaster. He looks happy. He looks content with life and existence. Fuck him. I am currently in the mix of blueberry season. I have worked 89 of the last 91 days and am currently in a situation where I am working a helluva a lot more than having any fun. This is a situation I find abhorrent, except twice a month when bills are due. When, with a complete babyface-turn…it comes surprisingly in handy. I'm burned out. I'm cranky. I can feel it. I drop a pen and feel nothing but rage. My printer runs out of paper and I want to slaughter thousands. My phone rings and I want to decimate entire solar systems. I showed remarkable restraint when they announced Snookie would be at Wrestlemania. Either that or I just don't care anymore. About life. Or the WWE. There's a gaping chasm in my life. I don't know what it is, except all that "all work and no love or fun" baggage. And also, maybe, all that cool shit I don't have. Like love and fun, for example. Those sound neat. I'm just kind of coasting through the days right now. I'm feeling nothing. Really. Got some hurt. Nothing new. I'm numb. I'm tired. I feel nuzzing. Nuzzing, Lebowski. Holy crap, I'm becoming a goddamn Nihlist. I vow not to let that happen. Those folk threaten castration. They'll cut yer fucking dick off. It won't come to that, Dude. I won't let it. If I can get through the next few months without disemboweling someone with a wooden cooking spoon, I'm going for some major R+R. Walking through pudding. Jeezus. That guy across the bar has giant coasters in his ears. Fuck me. Fuh-uh-uck. Me. I so want to shove a beer in that guy's ear.