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Friday, February 13, 2004

me: This weather is perfect.
you: It's ugly outside. Cold and wet...just sloppy.
me: Perfect for not feeling guilty for sitting in front of my computer and doing nothing useful. Now if only I could warm up. I'm freezing my balls off.
you: You don't have balls.
me: You don't know what I have. I might. When is the last time you checked?
you: You don't.
me: I may have something down there resembling balls.
you: You don't. Turn the heat up if you're cold.
me: I can't. I momentarily
contribute nothing monetary
to this lovely dwelling
so light and airy.
you: What the hell was that; a poem?
me: A really crappy attempt at something.
you: Look at you...you're a piece of shit today. Again.
me: I know. I fucked up my diet again. I started feeling better and gorged myself last night. I ate everything I could get my hands on.
you: Why do you do that? You have allergies. You can't eat just whatever. You always pay the next day.
me: I know, I know. I have no self-control. When I'm feeling awful it's so easy to be strict. But as soon as I'm feeling better...
you: You can't keep waiting until you are so hungry you're ready to eat off your own arm, and then stuff yourself with ready-made things. You have to think ahead and make something healthy. God, you're an idiot.
me: Alright. Shut up already. (sigh) It's like I keep making these deals with God, where I promise that if I would just feel better I would do something productive. And then I feel better one day and do nothing. Just squander the day away. And then He goes, O.K. deal's off kid...


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