About three months ago, I used ChatGPT to tell me what date the sunrise would align with the main street through town. This morning was that morning. I guess it was helpful that Podrick has been awake for a few hours.
He’s a good boy, but he’s a lot.
My new phone holder was delivered yesterday morning. We fucked around in the bedroom to figure out a place for its bracket to grip on. Shawshank‘s brain fired up all the cylinders to come up with a solution. He brought in his little couch-side table into the bedroom, slipped its base between the mattress and the bed frame, and we had a fucking brilliant set up.
I cut last night’s stream way short. My grippy wig band – generally uncomfortable but normally tolerable – made my skull feel like it was held in a vice. The feeling put me on edge, so I took an early break to remove the band and smoke a bit. The head-squeezy feelings and the smoke combined and made my body freak out, I was tense as fuck and felt like I couldn’t move. At the same time, I felt like I couldn’t be still, because when I did move, it felt wrong, and I had to keep testing exactly how wrong. Then my brain started poking at things. Did the grip somehow cause a stroke, am I going to die on camera while these dudes jack it? That’s when I logged out. Nothing good comes out of that sort of spiral.
I spent the rest of the night playing Saints Row IV. It’s an excellent way to unwind; I’ve even gotten Shawshank into the after work crime spree habit.
This is the weekend. We’re off. I’m going to put my cute jammies on and smoke the bong on the patio today.
