How to Post-crastinate
It's Sunday. I'm sunburnt, tired, broke and alone. The boys are off with Tricia, and I have a pile of things to do and a beautiful day daring me to do them.
I don't want to. I want to finish my coffee and switch to Bloody Marys. I'm giving serious thought to stripping down nude and getting some color on the parts of me that glare white against the red of my back. There are a world of possibilities outside my door, but the things on my list are inside, which makes them all the less attractive.
The urge to curl into the fetal position and whimper is becoming increasingly powerful. I'll save that for nap time.
Can you make a Bloody Mary out of the stuff in my refrigerator- chocolate vodka and a package of cherry tomatoes that are fading fast? What the hell would that taste like? Bloody Mary with a twist of Dirty Sanchez? I'm guessing that's close, and reason enough not to try it.
Sorry, man, all of a sudden I really had to go to the bathroom. That's something nice about being home alone, I can do what I do and leave the door open. Look world, I'm sitting down to pee! It took me a little longer than normal because I had to waddle down the hallway with my shorts around my ankles like some sort of drunk penguin so as to replenish the toilet paper stock. We like to keep the backup roles as far away from the bathroom as inconveniently possible.
And that's how it is today, I'm so trying to get out of doing what I must that I am giving you the play-by-play on my trip to the can. This is why it took me longer than most doctors to finish college.
Enough. I'm done with my coffee. I'm going to have a beer at 11am on a Sunday. I'm going to read the paper, i.e., comics and Target ad, and then I'm going to do the things I was meant to do- probably while lying naked in the sun. It's a compromise.