We'll have to change our jaded ways

But I've loved these days...
As I decided to add yet another entry I thought that something very profound and meaningful would spew forth from my fingertips and onto my Big Lots purchased Memorex keyboard. Within one word I realized that that was not going to happen.
There's nothing particularly insightful into what I'm thinking.
Here let me tell you:
Rescue Me is a very excellent show. People should watch it. If I could afford cable, I certainly would. But I can't. So I rent the DVDs. One day I may purchase the DVDs. But until then I'll just rent them. I think Denis Leary is some sort of spokesperson for some kind of person. Some very fucked up angry addicted kind of person. Interestingly enough I have surmised that he has created a character having little if anything to do with his actual personality that has actually transcended his own existence to become a "type." I find this fascinating. The ability to create for oneself an alternate persona without giving up yr actual personality. I think I might look into this. It might be useful at some point. Maybe some point in the next week or so.
I am also thinking that I spent 5 hours watching TV on DVD when I could've been doing something productive-what I might've been doing I have no idea but I am sure there is something more productive I could've been doing. Course, I don't really care.
Also on my mind-actually that's about it. My brain has really had enough of functioning-except for the fact that I am fairly certain my CD player is posssessed, as it is playing CDs that I know I did not put on there. That's a bit distressing-I own no CDs that would think it is a good idea to rhyme "coyote" and "peyote"-tho it is a fairly good rhyme. If you're going to get rhyming technical. Maybe this is a hallucination-why do my hallucinations insist on reading poetry? I don't really understand poetry-well, less it happens to be accompanied by a guitar at the very least.
Oh-never mind-it seems I'm listening to Billy Joel...which only leads me further to believe I'm having a breakdown. Billy Joel never sings about peyote. Cocaine, heroin, pot, whisky, champagne, beer-yes. But not peyote. Great. I've gone insane. Well, you heard it here first kids. I'm off my gourd. Super. And just when things were going so mediocre, too.
Speaking of Billy Joel, I just happened to glance at my copy of the New York Times Book Review from last week-which, I had thrown on top of my washing machine sometime around last Tuesday with the theory I would eventually get around to reading it-like ya do. SO-turns out there's a new book on the Piano Man by-some guy-I didn't read the review that well. I was very excited until the reviewer panned the book calling it "workmanlike" a description that I am fairly sure isn't good. It's great if you're reviewing car manufacturing-but probably not when talking about a book. Thus, I will read the book if it turns up the the NPL but I will not be any time ordering from amazon.com. I did get a strange and poorly torn (I should've maybe looked for scissors, in retrospect) picture of the Joel circa 1970 with long hair and a moustache and looking rather like an extra from the Let it Be photoshoot. So, like, the night's not a total loss. I knew I'd saved that book review for something.
I suppose at some point I should wax poetic that I had managed to forget something that I thought was ultimately important a year ago but until it was pointed out to me quite bluntly (tho accidentally) I had complete managed to forget that this day was anything other than the day my benefits paid in and the day before my electric bill is deducted from my checking account.
There's nothing to be poetic about. There are no great emotional disturbances, except maybe a few caused by a couple of real intense moments on the aformentioned DVD. I have other things to worry about. I didn't even TXT a message. Hell, what would that do but raise my phone bill?
Things change people change and what seems the most important thing in all of the world becomes a distant memory in the span of time. Hell, a year from now I may've realized Rescue Me is a shite show that didn't hold up for the second season and I'll have moved on to some other distraction or maybe I'll even be engaging in human contact (don't count on it-I foresee no complete personality change in the works). I will at this point in one year either have or be within weeks of having a master's degree, maybe even be searching sincerely for a better job or working a straight gig on the 15th floor Monday thru Friday and paying the lease on a new car.
Okay. That won't probably happen. Not all of that anyway. Probably some. Some of what we expect always happens, tho so much we never do does as well.
Life's like that. Isn't it.