I'm A Creep

And a weirdo, too. As if that were some sort of surprise.

 I'm kind of in love with the empty world in the dark hours. I can also imagine that the cops aren't in love with me, when my morbid curiosity takes me past the multi-million dollar mansions on the white-collar side of town at 3 a.m.. The black hoodie and backpack really sell the I'm-Not-Into-Trouble look, I'm sure. I've been wandering more than usual at the wee hours of the morning these last few weeks. Chalk it up to mild guilt over plunking down the equivalent of a new laptop on a new bicycle, and really comfortable sneakers that beg for walking

Last weekend provided me with a real gem, after I'd wandered for the better part of seven hours and stopped for a moment by the lake:

Melancholy morning, for the win.

O Perilous World

August and I clearly aren't seeing eye to eye on things. A flat can of Coke greeted my Wednesday morning, Thursday brought forth a flooded bathroom and a botched pipe, Friday kicked a football into the hood of my brand new vehicle, and now the worst offense of the lot:

Is that pink ink covering my hand (and not-pictured leg)? Absolutely. Is that pink ink coming off? Absolutely not.

Let this be a lesson learned: don't mess with the printer at 3 o'clock in the morning and expect to emerge unscathed. The only thing that makes me feel modestly better is looking at the kewlest Xbox evah.

I feel kind of bad that I sold my soul for that PS2 all those years ago, cause I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to hawk something in order to afford such ridiculous glory.