it's about time

about time.
wrong time.
right time?
no time.
no matter the combination a dyad with "time" boggles the mind. who knows what the writer is thinking from the most trite to the deepest baffling statement EVER. wow. i tried to eschew superlatives there and failed miserably, only to revel in my superlative misery.

friends don't think this is an attempt at profundity I am merely skimming off the skin of my immediate thoughts. and if any of y'all have had indian chai or some hot milky drink that's sat for a few seconds, you'd know that this skin is not too pleasant. much like what you see above. so i don't want to hear any harsh judgment, leave me be.

besides, I'm rusty. you read that date down there, it's ages ago. i've got creaky joints and an empty oil can. no can at all actually. maybe that means i shouldn't bother to pick up pen and put readers through this misery but guess what secret solace I have! No one reads my blog. How comforting.

You know what drives me to this again? By the likes of my writing you'll not be surprised: the utterly dry and barren expanse of legal writing I am forced to read just so I get that piece of paper that will lend me power. not in the Brain of Pinky and the Brain sense of power, but some other nice kind.

and I've already defeated myself. ah. until tomorrow. bear with the creaks friends.