I came here to possibly write something profound, but I have nothing. As I type, I laugh to myself. There are a lot of things I find enjoyable in life. One of them is coffee. I just took a sip of coffee. Another. Yet another. I'm not going to continue this narrative.
The enter key on this keyboard sticks. When I sat down there were 51 individual Firefox windows open. Apparently some lack simple problem solving skills. I owe mine to Transformers toys, I think. Possibly my mediocre thought process. If I think of myself as mediocre, what does that make other people? What the fuck am I talking about?
Today, at work, I laid at the top of a flight of stone stairs we (Patrick Jansen) built. Out of no where I started talking to myself; playing out hypothetical scenes in my head. I looked to the ceiling, which is the roof, which is a sheet of rip stop plastic, and saw what looked to be the act of breathing. There was zero motion. My mind made it move. I have these a lot. I don't know whether they are flashbacks from some sweet drugs I've taken or (?).
Over the years I've searched for jeans that suit me; the way jeans should. I accidentally, and I don't know how, came across vintage Levi's. Yes. 1972 Levi 646 bell bottoms. I bought what was, in my belief, a pair with a 32 waist. Unfortunately they are actually a 34 waist. No matter. I have a sewing machine and made good use of it. The waist doesn't fit the way I'd like, but what the hell. The more I wear them, the more comfortable I feel. The real issue I'm trying to address here is natural jean fade. You can't fucking fake it with some bleach and a square of sand paper. No one should make fake whiskers. I hereby deem it illegal to alter jeans in an inhumane way. Buy a real pair of old pants! Ebay is cheap. If you don't have enough money to spare, sell your old "crap." Don't slack on jeans!
Don't slack on life!