rehab...

Last night, under the trickle-down of a full moon 3 days past, and with oyster stew in a coconut brew, and roast beef, and wine so fine with a leafy green pipe-packed chaser sublime, two birthdays were honored with a toast from a host so kind. And there was cake, chocolate as a matter of fact, and it had a major caffeine/sugar infestation going on. And it was good, and we partook en mass. It's Sunday now and am I the only one dragging my ass?

I'm plopped on the bed and foot forward toward the east. I've followed the day across the mountain, sometimes I moved. It's not as if I'm in pain. I just need to flush any responsibility down the drain... for today. It's a residual thing.

At 51 I'm not so dumb to think I can keep this pace up forever, and especially since I started it around the age of 18. That's only plus or minus 30 and if McDonald's has it's way, I'll be flipping burgers for another 30 and at minimum wage to boot. It's their contribution to longevity and health care... sort of.

In the meanwhile, I'm happy to know I probably won't pass their urine test. Can't be stoned flippin' Chinese steroid laden beef deboned. Nope. Not allowed. Whoohoo!