Come on, dude...it's MONDAY

Listening to: Flying Machines, "On a Whim"--and the dulcet tones of my neighbor's chainsaw.

Yes, that's right. Chainsaw Man returns. He's out there, chopping things down, cutting wood to splinters. Except that it's Monday.

You would think his constant weekend chainsawing would be more offensive, simply because more people are home, and trying to do things like sleep in, or work around the house, or read. But, to me at least, the Monday chainsawing is the most egregious. I mean, it's Monday. Mondays, in general, burst with suckitude. The weekend's over, and a long week begins yet again, with more goals that will go unmet, more projects continually unfinished, etc. The weekend seems so very far away. And the cat is bothering me with renewed vigor, since he doesn't have TH around to chase him about the house.

Plus, I'm the only one in the vicinity who's home, as far as I can tell. So it seems like Chainsaw Man is doing all this for my benefit. "Look at me, I have a chainsaw, and I use it on the weekdays, too! I cut down trees! WhirrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

There. It's out of my system. I'm going to turn the volume up a few more notches, thank God for headphones, and get back to work.

Or I'm going to start perusing the real estate listings in the area.

One of the two.

You Drive Me Crazy

No, not you. Or you over there. No, no. The person who drives me crazy is...

...this guy. Who is not so much on the next street as right across the *$#&ing street. Who I wrote about 1 year and 2 months ago. Who is STILL out there with is g-damn, m%&$*f@(#*ing chainsaw almost every single weekend. Every weekend, for 14+ months. At this point, I think he's just chopping up twigs with the damn thing. There can't be anything else left to cut.

Seriously. Thank God for headphones and internet radio, because otherwise I would've lost my mind at this point. They say good fences make good neighbors, but in this day and age, I think good headphones come in much, much handier. They might not make good neighbors, but they make less psychotic ones.

*Wanders away, muttering incomprehensibly*.

Note to Self:

Stop. Second. Guessing.

Just. Freaking. WRITE.

Back to work. No food until 1000 words!