02 July 2008

Sofa so good

You have been warned.

I start every day with an expectation that this will be the day I do great things! This is it! It's the beginning of the rest of a life of awesomeness!

Okay, no I don't. I start each day groaning at the alarm clock, or, on particularly outstanding days, exclaiming, "Not again!" Starting days is not my forte.

But by the time I've made it through the lion's share of the day and I'm getting through the long hours of the afternoon, I have every reasonable expectation that maybe I'll get something accomplished before I once again ride the Morpheus Express to the Land of Nod.

Is it quitting time yet? A guy can only hurl so much feces!

And yet, arriving home each evening with my head full of plans and ideas and, yes, hopes and dreams (and rainbows and kittens and unicorns and you get the idea!) I fall prey to a force so impossibly powerful that there is no realistic hope of ever escaping...

...my sofa.

It's so damned comfy!

I'll come into the apartment and get out of my work clothes and then sit down - just for a minute - while I gather my thoughts and figure out a plan of attack for all the things I think I'm going to do, and when I open my eyes, it's 7 o'clock. I might consider standing up at this juncture, but it seems that in my sleep I somehow managed to turn on the television, so now I'm absorbed into some Law & Order or King of the Hill or King of Queens or Everybody Loves Raymond or Scrubs, because these are the channels TiVo has carelessly left itself tuned to, and before I know it, 8 o'clock rolls around and it's time to call Zeeba.

In the end, I may squeeze in a couple of minor chores, or a lame Diaryland entry, or a short unicorn ride, but overall? The sofa wins, every time.

And who suffers? You do, because you have to read this shit.

Why, God? Why?!!!