No, I still don’t feel like setting up the voicemail service on our new phone line. People might leave messages. Ugh! People! Dropping their messages like so many errant pigeons. And I would have to record a greeting, and when do I feel like greeting anyone? Why do I have a phone at all?
I was out today, as is my custom, and I noticed that Lowell seems to have bus service. The bus doesn’t have a number. Instead, one is greated by a scrolling marquee that reads DOWNTOWN CIRCULATOR. Indeed. Take that, Baltimore.
I wonder if I can write in essay form ever again? Probably not. Blast you, internet! I have the attention span of Mr. H or that dog across the street. Now I am thinking about hash browns. I am remembering song lyrics. Hmmm, hashbrowns again. Am I hungry? Maybe I am. Should I buy a plane ticket to Hong Kong? Internal bad idea meter says Yes! Christ. The mortgage underwriter wants proof of my income for the last few years. Dur, don’t they know everyone lies on those applications? How much could I make selling a kidney in Hong Kong? This could be an investment in my future. Dear Lord, deliver.