The big benefit of being an independent contractor is the hours. I found that my productivity levels decrease during which that thing you day-dwellers call the “Sun” is in the horizon. I just spent more continuous hours working than uh… well shit, even if I wasn’t half dead and delirious from deprivation, I still wouldn’t be able to think of a time I did that much work in a marathon run. It was worth the effort though, now my big project is nearly out of the way. However, now that I want to sleep, the client will no doubt decide to call me in an hour, eliciting completely involuntary responses from the “asleep Sharkey” who likes to fuck up my professional life. I’m sure the client wouldn’t appreciate my answers to his inquiries and comments having the words “cocksmoker” and “shitfaced dickbiter” thrown in for posterity. Since I don’t trust myself, I’m going to turn off the ringer. Better safe than fired.
If you were wondering where the posts went this weekend, you can find them at a little place called Margaritaville, a suburb of Boozetown, USA. All my friends (thanks to the lil’ woman and Sugary75) threw me a surprise birthday shindig at Dave & Busters, which ended up at the Queen Mary for flaming booze and a Persian Elvis impersonator. Hey, it’s my party and I’ll celebrate how I like. Last night the GF treated me to a Tenacious D show at the House Of Blues, where we caught about a quarter of the (from what I’ve heard) amazing Angels game last night. Not a bad weekend, if I do say so myself, and it’s not even my birthday yet. Frankly with all the alcohol that’s run through my system the last 48 hours, I’m surprised I had the energy to keep my eyes open past midnight, let alone 8 in the damned morning. But that’s what inhalents are for, my children. Whenever you’re feeling tired or down in the mouth, grab a nice bucket of fresh paint. Or as I like to call it, productivity in a can. A can of awaiting latex-based death. Good morning and good night to you all.
