Dear Charlie Sheen: wtf

Trashing Chuck Lorre? I've never seen him do anything but state the obvious about you, no name calling, and then express amazement of your ability to be not dead. You were foul and nasty and one step away from the slurring anti-semitic Mel Gibson. If you're not on drugs, if you're just high on life, then you have lingering pot smoke and cocaine dust in the air, not to mention a build up of lsd in your spinal fluid- been cracking your back a lot lately? Is there some urban legend about crystal meth remnants, too? If so, then it also applies. That, or the syphilis has gotten all the way to your brain.

Also, make up your mind- will you be surrounding yourself with a porn paradise or the love of your ex-wives and children? One or the other, asshole, you can't have both.

Another also? You've created a suck show. It's gone down the crapper along with you. Lorre's done all he could to keep it afloat with your stupid anchor ass. You are not Nathan Fillion and your show is not Firefly. Ergo, you have no mighty band of followers. Get over yourself.

To Claim the Meditation Was Unsuccessful Would be an Understatement

Dammit, is the sound still on on the television? No, ignore it. Need to learn to ignore sounds if I want to be able to meditate at work... Where would I? The break room? People will think I'm insane. The bathroom! No, no lids. Go to the car- it won't be freezing much longer... It might get too warm, not idling the car, I kill the environment too much anyway. Roll down the windows, open the sun roof. Freakin' traffic. Stop! No thinking... The refrigerator just kicked on. I guess I'm never around actual complete silence. Block that out... What time did I start? Stop thinking! Breathe, breathe, breathe. Now you're thinking about breathing! Now you're picturing the word BREATHE. Focus. The center of the A. Focus. Focused on that flower when I was in labor with Connor. Could I draw that flower now? Oh my god, stop thinking. I could blog how bad at this I am. Clear your head!... Am I really thinking about blogging about thinking about blogging?... God, how long has it been?

I'm mixing my beer and my sudafed tonight. Is this why they card me when I buy each of them?

I think the proof of this fact is that I published this post before I actually wrote it. Score one for the beerdafed. I've never had to retract a post and it took a few minutes to figure out how to do so.

I've got a cold. Whine, whine, bitch, moan. Normally, I just take a sickness like a woman. That is to say, I've got shit to do, I've got to keep moving. This time, I am whining like a total man. You know how they get when they're sick. Life must come to a sudden and painful halt. He is suffering, you must too.

Well, that's me right now. This sucks. I'm talking head-down-on-the-table-at-Connor's-hockey-practice, Ramen-noodles-for-dinner, please-don't-take-too-much-advantage-of-me-kids sick. And it's just a cold.

I did it to myself. Two days before this hell cold came on, I thought, "Gee, I've made it through most of this winter without being ill." I've told you before that I am Murphy's Law's bitch. I am fully aware of this fact. So I immediately followed up this thought with, "For which I am super grateful, god, or gods, or Murphy. Whomever. I am thankful. I am not thinking of this hoping for any sort of irony."

I am also fully aware that it is extraordinarily odd that I talk like this to myself. At least it wasn't out loud.

I've spent approximately 19% of my day at work, these last few days, wiping down things I've touched with lysol wipes. Phones, keyboards, mice, pens, door handles. I even considered anti-virusing customers' credit cards before handing them back. Then I decided that was a lot of work for little payoff. You should all probably avoid aisle 4, though. I had to rearrange that whole bitch today, it's probably all plaguey.