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Sweaty Guy

Sweaty Guy


I have one more shift, and then finally, after sixteen straight days of work with only two Sundays off, I can be free. There’s real poison in the ice cream now, and it’s in every bite. Even if my bite is as sweet as can be, someone at the table beside me is choking. It’s a stressful way to spend my days, and it does a real disservice to the headspace available, but hey—I suppose that’s work for everyone.

The work I want to do, however, is right here. Right in front of me—hell, it’s at my fingertips. I jotted a note down at work today that will give me plenty to add to my current story tonight. It was one of those pivotal ideas that activated the Ross Geller in me, barging into the stairwell of my mind, shouting “PIVOT!”

I’m looking forward to diving in, but I’m also looking forward to another hangout with Tyler Fudge. The podcast we did the other day was very well received, and off the momentum of that—we’re planning a real show for the two of us to host. The subject is something we both consider ourselves knowledgeable in, but for the areas we don’t know so well, we’ll have people on to teach us. It’s gonna a be a zinger, I can just feel it.

As far as the rest of me is concerned, I’m doing alright. It’s hard to sleep at night because of this cold snap—the thermostat needs to be at a certain number to keep the house warm, but my bedroom seems to trap all the hot air and keep it close to the walls. I wake up sweaty a lot these days. Bed sheets like deli sandwich wrappers, I tells ya! It’s disgusting, but like John Mulaney says, I’m in that in between stage where I’m not old yet, I’m just gross. Maybe I’m just a sweaty guy now?

Who am I kidding—a third of the people reading this blog know for a fact that I’m a sweaty guy now. The first hour of every work day is spent just leaking while I climatize. Thank god for Kleenex, that’s all I’m gonna say. I want to get a handkerchief, but that, on some levels, feels like admitting defeat. Although, I could reframe it as a new accessory—I, like Thanos, appreciate a good accessory.  It’s why I love glasses and watches, I like rings and bags—don’t even get me started on scarves. I carry my work tools in a little black pouch that I say that the ladies call my clutch, but really, I call it my clutch. I’m thinking of getting a brown one in the new year. Fancy, right?

This has been fun. I was worried that I was petering out, but the espresso shots kicked in and I got all excited writing about accessories. So, in the spirit of collecting more things, I’d like to ask… ya’ll ever notice that lil’ donate button at the bottom of the website? I don’t do this a lot, but I’d like to ask you to consider pitching in if you’ve enjoyed my blog or podcast, if not, that’s cool—myself, I’m in no position to donate to anything, but if you’ve got the extra bread, slide daddy on down a slice.

Okay, that’s too much—I’m going now. See you tomorrow.

White Terrorists

White Terrorists

Self-Pep 2

Self-Pep 2