The Bloody Doors Off

Low key day.

Can’t sleep past 7am any longer.

It physically hurts.

Seriously.

My head hurts if I sleep in.

Which is why they invented naps.

But no nap for me today.

Had to get a testosterone shot this afternoon.

Big shocker.

Fifty-four year old man needs to bolster his T.

Because I wasted it under the covers when I was a teenager.

Or the bathroom.

I used to have nudie pics. Mostly Playboy.

Which I thought I had hidden well.

In the bathroom.

That the entire family uses.

There never was a talk.

Lots of giggling.

But no talk.

This is a long-about way of saying my left ass cheek hurts.

Couldn’t finish my breakfast this morning.

There’s another shock. I barely eat in the mornings.

Hell, I barely eat on most days.

And yet this portly piper remains corpulent.

(I looked that up on thesaurus.com)

That slow-moving freight train has ventured from the back of my brain and entered my sinuses.

Yeah, that makes no sense.

But it’s true.

Speaking of true things.

My wonderfully talented wife just farted. (She’s gonna kill me but for some reason I think it’s necessary to explain that we can be this open. I was the first one to fart in the relationship. I think that let her know it was okay to pass wind in front of me. Oh isn’t love grand?).

My wonderfully talented wife participated in a storytelling event called True Stories Told Live tonight on Zoom. She recited a thoroughly moving story that involved her year abroad in Israel during university. I couldn’t be prouder of her.

And now I’m listening to the Blue Jays beat the White Sox.

Today’s stressors have been all first-world problems. And I wouldn’t even call ’em stressors. Annoyances.

Alright.

If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, assume I’m dead.

Because of the fart comment.