Back up in your ass with the Resurrection

I live. I went MIA for a second. Second (according to OD) = a month exact.

Spent Christmas with Reagan. Three words: quiet, riot (laughing), and done.

Decided I needed to disconnect for a while. Too much noise. So I left my laptop sitting on my bed, grabbed a handful of clothes and Dart and told Stu to check my mail. I took my phone (upon Reagan’s motherly request), but kept it off.

I went to my dads. Meet with the attorney and real estate agent about some properties. Put them on the market.

On December 28th, all human interaction ceased.

I hung out with Dart in my dad’s very very empty house. It doesn’t sound nearly as depressing at I depict it.

I painted. Smoked weed. A lot of weed. Went for jogs. Took ridiculously long showers. Attempted to make grilled cheese with an iron (A goal ever since I first watched Benny and Joon). Lean against every wall in the house, upside down. Race toilet paper rolls off the balcony. Read my first (and last) cheap romance novel. Smoked more weed and ate massive amounts of Oreos. Built a rather impressive Lego castle. Played Jedi with a flashlight (Dart’s least favorite trip memory).

Still haven’t gone into work.

I feel like Peter from Office Space. If fish didn’t disgust me, I’d slap a juicy one on my desk and gut it.

All in all, it was the most productive month of my life. Accomplished by doing absolutely nothing.

“Used to be just balony, now they make you add nummmba."