So here's a dilemma. You're walking into work, in the little parade of tired looking people filing into the office on Monday morning. You see that the woman in front of you has a HUGE rip right up the seat of her pants. Do you tell her? You don't know her. How do you breach that conversation? Excuse me, ma'am, your fat ass has exploded out of your pants and I can see your granny panties. Or, do you just let her go, figuring that she either a)put them on this morning with the rip and doesn't care or b)should have heard them ripping since the tear is the size of a small canyon. I didn't tell her. Does this make me a bad person?

In other news, I slept a grand total of 3.5 hours last night. Just couldn't sleep. I tried all my tricks. I try reading. I try relaxing every muscle group in my body, from my neck to my toes. I try sleeping with my head at the foot of the bed (don't ask, it just works for me). I try sleeping on the floor. I try sleeping naked. I try drugging myself. I try sleeping on the couch. Sleeping on the couch finally worked. Finally. Which is good because I was out of tricks. I think I might go to bed at 8:00 tonight.

SOTD: Damien Rice, Cannonball

Posted by blueostrich at 8:56 AM
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