And When The Memories Are All That Remain.

There is an absolute shit storm of things that can go wrong on the commute to work. None of them is quite so frustrating as the self-inflicted shit storm that is forgetting your mother fucking book and not realizing it until you are trapped on a bus load (four individuals) of people you want desperately to ignore. That is the misery epic I had to endure this morning and although you would think I could cope with DuoLingo and Angry Birds at my fingertips, I was actually close to tears until I passed another level on Angry Bird and the planned endorphin rush seized me with its soothing compulsive energy.

After that I continued to relentlessly snub that miserable DuoLingo bird and I was quite prepared to stare into dry masonry before I let that patronizing shit back onto my phone, but luckily the train was waiting for me and I was in downtown lickety-split.

It isn't just naked misanthropy, however, that drives me to the printed page. I genuinely enjoy the sense of escape the stories bring to me and although I have moved past Social and Domestic Development in England 1500 - 1800, I am still firmly situated in the distant Elizabethan past. Or not actually, since I left my book and have to face this brutal modern reality unaided and uncomforted by the written word. Just digital avian tauntings and disappointments.

I am actually planning on having a nice dinner tonight to celebrate my birthday. Also a friend's birthday, but since I have picked up the tab the last 17 times we are going to make it mostly my birthday and try a new vegan joint I like. That should soothe the brutal itch that this tarsome day has become.