I Hate It Here

So Chris has had this site up in running for some time, and while I've often checked in on it, I must confess I have yet to do a damn thing myself, selfish bastard that I am. I've got things to do dammit!

And right now that involves sitting in a small 6X8 room, wondering why I can't get myself to fall asleep. No, I'm not in prison, watching out for JK Simmons, I am at work.

I do direct care for a couple of fine gentlemen, and since my shift is a continuous three days, I find myself having to sleep in the staff room, which is just as uncomfortable as it sounds. Cinder blocks with not one, but two pieces of plywood form my bed. My pillow is whatever stale bread is left in the cupboard. Sometimes I fight small mice to the death for piece of mind. They want my pillow stuffings, and I simply cannot let that stand.

Most of the nights the house shuts down at 10Pm, which might as well be 10am for me. I'm not getting to sleep anytime soon.

I've done my best to occupy my time. Read books, watched cable television (a luxury I have not known for years) or best yet, tried to write. So far I'm failing miserably.

This is why I am being punished by my immune system. The 4olbs of snot, hacking cough, and what is most likely a Wilfred Brimley spider monster appearing in the corner is a direct result of me not holding up my end of the storytelling bargain I struck with an old man at the crossroads when I was a wee lad of 26. His parcel is past due, and he's striking at me through my anti-bodies, tricky little devil that he is.

Only thing to do is put pen to pencil, fingers to keys, and let the sickness slowly drain from my system and into you.

That sounds horrible.

But its true. Deal with it now, stock up on penecillan, band aids, and handy wipes to keep that oh so fresh feeling. From this point on, at least once a week from this sanitary bunker I will unleash upon you my thoughts, feelings, and story progessions.

Comic work to follow in 168 short hours.