It’s official, comrades. Members of the Space-Ship Omega. The COVID-19 vaccine is currently coursing through my veins. Building antibodies. Shuffling me towards a day when I may return to the movies, watch sports with friends, and attend concerts. Build, antibodies! Build! Swell up, teach my body how to karate-chop this fucking virus. Missile dropkick the son of a bitch! Get big, get strong, get ready for me. ‘Cause Imma put your serum-ass to the test in three weeks or so.
Man, I can absolutely relate to Murray from The Goldbergs. Motherfucking Spring Break is here, which means it’s time to pop off them jeans! Slip into something more comfortable, and fucking flat-out vibe. It’s goddamn glorious out today on the Eastern seaboard of the Empire. I got myself a warm-ass breeze wafting into my study, I got a warm-ass can of Diet Dew flying down my gullet, and I got a warm-ass glow in my heart.
Between the weather, the longer days, and the imminent approach of our vaccinations, I’m feeling hope. Really, I’m feeling hopeful for the first time since maybe the Fall. The Winter cracked open my psyche and blasted my mind-ass. Somehow while missing my prostate, because let’s be honest: an ass-blasting focusing on the prostate is a glorious, near-heavenly experience.
Motherfuckers it’s the weekend, and that can only mean one thing. Fucking time to pop off our pants, turn off our motherfucking Ring Lights (if you’re a remote teacher like me), and get high as hell! You know, relax! Put on a good horror flick, stretch your gullet beyond reasonable measurement, and fucking gorge!
Pizza! Martial arts flicks! Dead Cells! Diarrhea!
Seriously though, you sublime bitches. Let’s gather! It’s time, my fellow Degenerates of the Round Table! The Bar is Open, my mood is good thanks to sunshine and a 48-siesta, and my heart throbs for you! Yes, for you!
By god, we fucking made it! 2021, motherfuckers! The new year has arrived not a moment too soon, and I’m glad to karate chop the neck of the previous 365 days. I know there’s the fair critique that time is arbitrary, a new calendar don’t mean shit, and nothing magically changes. That said, it still counts for something. Our little human meat-computers process reality through the experiencing of touchstone moments. Holidays, birthdays, and word, the new year. Don’t blame me, I’m just the messenger. Science shows that shit.
Which means while the calendar flipping may not change anything, the start of the new year is a solid-as-fuck totem we can cling onto as we eye happier days in the upcoming months. So, fuck yeah, arbitrary or not, I’m stoked to finally be rid of the previous shit-ass year.
Whelp, the end of the semester has arrived. Just in time to compliment last week’s news that my wife doesn’t have cancer! A really lovely double axe handle to 2020’s absolutely brutal ennui. For the first time in a while I’m sleeping again, smiling again, enjoying the general day-to-day existence. Of course, I’m still concerned that dickheads out there are partying as the Pandemic reaches its peak! Of course, I’m still concerned that a significant strand of the Republican Party has turned into a reality-denying sledgehammer that is attempting to split the head of democracy fully open.
But, but, hey. We aren’t going to be able to turn the entire ship around. Not this quickly, perhaps not at all. However, the changes in my personal life are enough to gloss the synapses a bit, and allow me to enjoy my time with my wife! With you fucks! And make the best out of a mutilated holiday season, sans physical contact with friends and family.
Thus my friends, let’s dance the dance of digital reverie! Hark! What are you up to this week? Hark! What are you enjoying this week? This is Monday Morning Commute.
Motherfuckers, clap your heads and shout to the skies. It’s the first long weekend of the semester! Let me tell you good friends, it ain’t a moment too soon. Nope! Not at all. Though I have to admit, this week has found me getting more into the swing of this whole virtual existence. It’s all relative, of course. I mean, I’m emotionally exhausted. Wearied about another nine weeks. But at the same time? I really enjoyed my classes this week, and I’ve appreciated some of the smaller virtues of working from home.
Be it watching the leaves fall outside my window, or being able to take a walk before class starts in the morning. This plague has afforded us more time, those of us fortunate to be employed, and healthy.
Oh shit! I totally forgot that there’s a new Die Hard in the works. Well, there is, and John McClane’s son has finally been cast. It isn’t Aaron Paul. Bummer time.