#Weekend Open Bar
Welcome to Weekend Open Bar, my friends!
I’m not dead, not sad, just busy these days my friend! That said, I apologize! How the fucking fuck have you fucking folks been? Me? I feel eerily content. Not euphoric which is rare, not happy which is fleeting, but generally content. I can’t explain it. Or, rather, I suppose I can. Teaching is fantastic, my diet is good, I’m getting a lot of sleep and exercise, and by god, I swear it, yoga fucking works.
And a pleasant Weekend Open Bar to you all, as well! How’s it going, anyways? Hope you’re as lucky as me, to have the next couple of days to convalesce. And if you don’t? May you find the strength to punch the fucking weekend work day squarely in the throat! Indeed, indeed! Maybe you find the strength to axe-kick its compromised organs, and drink from its futility! Fuck, fuck. I was trying to come in here floaty, relaxed from yoga. That’s a thing I’m doing now, I guess.
Going to my wife’s class on Friday evenings.
I’m as basic and as privileged as they come, but, what do you want from me? I hope some sort of meta, tactic acknowledgement of this can salve my weeping wound which has burst open from leaning into Generica.
If I’m being honest, I’ve been staring at this fucking blank text box for about a half-an-hour. Intermittently, I’ll hop on tumblr, stare at some asses, and pop back. Waiting, you see, for something to say. But, I don’t have anything! Not today. No friends, no way. I suppose I could prattle on about how I’m happy it’s the Weekend. So fucking happy, too.
So fucking happy, too, despite the fact that it was a short workweek. However, I think this happiness stems from the fact that I genuinely despise my job these days. Not the teaching part. That’s fucking fantastic. Rather, the other miscellany I must put myself through to pay the bills, because the life of an adjunct is tenuous at best. I don’t know! I don’t, seriously. I exist in a weird liminal state these days. I’m between teaching in the Spring, and teaching my summer class. As well, I’m between the Spring semester I just taught, and figuring out what I’m going to do next Spring.
Hello, friends! It’s The Weekend Open Bar! Come hang out!
I’m feeling good over here. The weather has finally turned here on the Eastern seaboard of the Empire. My semester has finally ended. And, I’ve gotten consecutive nights of good sleep. All of this is to say is that I’m actually sticking my head out of the Depressive Cocoon I build around myself ever so often, and smiling!
By god, smiling.
Hell yes, it’s Weekend Open Bar.
What’s up, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega? Me? This guy? I’m celebrating the cessation of the semester! Or, at least, the last full week. Not only that, but it’s the motherfucking weekend! With that in mind, I must cop to you that I’m about to eat too much, sleep too much, play too much, smoke too much, and smile too much.
And, I implore you fellow degenerates to join me in my revelry here in the Open Bar!
It’s the weekend, friends. The fucking weekend, friends! Man, I don’t know how a shortened week felt so fucking long, but here I am. Basking in the freedom of two days of adolescent debauchery with a grown-up bank account. And if you’re reading this, you’re here too! By chance or by intention, you’re fucking here too! At the Weekend Open Bar! So now that I got you, so now that you’re here, let’s hang out!
Welcome to the Open Bar, you fucks. The wank-off where we, the gilded turds of the Space-Ship Omega, share what we’re up to during the weekend. I must level with you, seeing Black Panther is at the core of my entire existence the next couple of days. Seeing it tonight, Friday, with comrades. Seeing it Sunday night with my male progenitor. And in the middle? I imagine gushing and flushing all my savory glands discussing it. Here, on OL. Saturday night, on Twitch.
It’s been a moment since I crept out from under the shadows and issued forth a Weekend Open Bar, huh? For that, I apologize. How the fuck are you doing, friends? Apologies for the tardiness, and all that happy horse shit. You know how it goes, or maybe you don’t know how it goes.
But, when the MalaiseVapors got your synapses in their claws, it’s hard to fight back.
But, I’m here now. The MalaiseVapors beat back, another row in the books. They’re gone, but not forgotten. They’re gone, but they’ll return. They always return, to dance the Dance Macabre.