The boy woke up around 2am, which means I also woke up around 2am. He, of course, came and got in bed with me and then promptly fell back asleep. Things did not unfold in quite the same way for yours patchouli.
The boy is only 40" but he finds a way of occupying the entire bed. He's a UFC napper.
I sit here listening to the Grateful Dead, for reasons that are too simple to go into.
I am looking at multi-connection flights all over Central and South America, and then back again. It is impossible, of course, but I am looking anyway. There is a bachelor party and then a wedding. Certainly there must come an age in which one is too old for bachelor parties, no?
I would say 45-ish, give or take a year or two.
A stripper could easily break my hip. A hooker might be my eternal undoing, my end.
Then, there are the costs to consider. Who knows how much they charge to rid a man of the curling wretchedness these days.
So, I started looking at flights just for the wedding, but my mind was scratching at itself with a mild case of imaginary fleas, just a touch of the mange.
I wondered inside my heart... how inappropriate would it be to just go to the bachelor party?
No, of course that would not work. If I were to choose then it would be the wedding and not the other. Why do I feel so flat and suddenly empty. Finances must make me hungry.
Money is a growling in the caverns of the mind, haunting faraway places. It is the exotic curse which few wish away.
The Buddhists tell us not to want. That sounds nice and pleasing, precisely what I need.