…another year. Officially, this is the last week of my so-called vacation. Tuesday, I start my daily tasks at the Foundation for another year. This year, there is an added bonus: college. Yes, college. Your humble deviant has been attending college in hopes of having some sort of degree to add to my legacy. It seems that people take you more seriously when a degree is possessed. While I like to think of myself as rather intelligent (extraordinarily so), I will feel much better about myself once I have a few letters behind my name. Believe it or not, I have decided to pursue a medical degree; a valuable asset with the Thunderdome exploring genetic research.
Yes, this is it: the last weekend of my “summer.” As has been the case for the last few years, I did not do much with my vacation from the daily drudgery of board meetings, public appearances, and general assorted mayhem. And today, will be just like the rest of those days. Instead of some crazy night out carousing, mingling, and possibly arranging a luscious night of sexual extravagance, I find myself inside for the evening. Just watch the side of my blog page, you will probably be seeing tweets about wrestling – which will be what my evening boils down to: wrestling, some show about psychotic, sociopathic women, and then off to bed to start the process again tomorrow.
Ah well, such is life. I guess I had one night of craziness this summer, so I really should stop crying. However, I am not in that sort of mood today. I have been in the most foul mood; I should crack open a bottle of absinthe and head out to the range. But I will not do that. For some reason, I find the misery of the day welcoming and do not wish to tempt fate by assuming that I could pull myself from the doldrums and live this weekend up like it is nineteen ninety-nine all over again. Perhaps I should find that flea-ridden Vice President of this beloved Foundation and amuse myself by tazing him repeatedly, and then stashing him somewhere in the catacombs under the Thunderdome. I wonder how long it would take him to find his way out? Longer and more amusing for me if I were to slip him a mickey after the tazing…
While tormenting dear Smeagol would cheer me for a bit, I would still have that impending doom cloud floating over my head like a misshapen parasol. Loneliness is a bitch. However, that bitch is my best friend sometimes, there are not many like me. Not many who can understand me, and I find myself falling short in the expectations of others. Remember Sister Constance? I do…
So…now what? I know what. I will do what I always do: suck it up underneath a patrician facade, and dance with the green faery until my legs fall out from under me. I will probably repeat this act tomorrow and Sunday and again on Monday…board meetings are always more entertaining with a hangover. With my mood as of late combined with the after effect of absinthe over-indulgence, I may have to have my secretary confiscate all of my “toys…”
Rothechilde's Quill 