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Despite some nice fantasies, I'm not the fool with the winning lottery ticket.

I am, however, sleep-deprived and grainy, since the bed's not nearly so cozy when [livejournal.com profile] aishlynn is away, waking up at 4:30 for feline asshattery every day is un-fun, and K's return travel was a clusterfuck of near-epic proportions which returned her to the house around 2:30am last night.

Beginning my last full week as a member of Big Red Can Cola Company. Whoop de damn do.

From this past weekend's George Carlin calendar:
I don't understand these people who call themselves spiritual advisors. Franklin Graham, the unfortunate son of Billy Graham, is George Bush's spiritual advisor. Bill Clinton had Jesse Jackson.

Here's the part I don't understand: how can someone else advise you on your spirit? Isn't spirit an intensely personal, internal thing? Doesn't it, by its very nature, elude definition, much less analysis? What kind of advice could some drone ... possibly give you about your spirit? It sounds like a hustle to me.
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