Not tired, not in pain or anything like that. Just dead. Gone. Pointless. Without meaning or need to continue. And with such a fun thought in my mind, I did not run around Double Bay like I should have.
Gen didn't quite know what to say when she asked how I was either.
We had a morning coffee at Yellow after some leet reverse parking in Elizabeth Bay. Paul Keating was there reading his newspaper. He didn't look dead like me. Also, I spilt a bottle of water. In front of the former prime minister.
"Making up" for my lack of running had me walking from Elizabeth Bay to David Jones in the city and back. It was closed.
After a doctor's appointment in Newtown, the M5 had gridlocked due to a bad accident. I went home via Heathcote Road.
I cut myself shaving this afternoon and let my face bleed profusely.
Tonight, we all surprised Tuneil with a surprise birthday party. She was surprised. Without missing a beat, she asked me if there was something wrong. I told her I felt dead. She wasn't happy about that, but content that I had eaten today.
The kitchen kept putting salad dressing on my lame0-ass-salad. Three times it took for no salad dressing. And even then, I watched them make it. And it tasted like cardboard.
I made an inappropriate asian joke and the waiter broke a table in two. The two were not related incidences.
Fruit of the Moment: Red Ears
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