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2007-09-14 - 8:21 p.m.

If I move again I don’t think I’ll be moving my couch with me. Almost every time I have in my head, a plan to go out, make my life a little bit better, or expand myself by heading off to to some museum or art gallery, the siren call of ripped cushions culls me down into her pillowy goodness.

I took the day off today. I hadn’t had one in a good long while and it seemed time, especially as if would provide me with a nice cushy three day weekend. A happenstance that, as rare as it is, and as wonderful as it is, should probably be heralded with trumpet fare.

The big plan, at least for today, was to wake up early, pick up Jeanette and enjoy each and every last drop of available daylight between rush hours as possible. Unfortunately, I also added a big breakfast to the plan. Certainly, bacon, eggs, and pancakes wouldn’t run my departure time up too much.

That is unless one has to make a trip to the Bodega to refresh their milk supply, then has to wash and dry the dishes as they’re somewhat key to the cooking processes to follow...oh, and then there’s the shower, shave and shoe shine, one requires to slap themselves into something not resembling the Toxic Avenger.

In between all of these, a small slump into the couch is required.

‘Oh, I’m just sitting down to do up my laces. ‘

I think taking a solid hour to tie my shoes might just be a personal record.

Sportcenter was on.

None of my teams even played last night, and yet there I was waiting for the webgems with my feet simply resting inside the soles of my boots.

My breakfast came around one o’clock. I never should have tried to get all three, bacon, eggs and pancakes in at the same time. The bacon and eggs came up well, but the pancakes turned into crusted slop soldered to the bottom of the pan.

Of course, I forgot the coffee and that...well that had to happen. Of course, not before , I took in a few episodes of Scrubs.

With laces finally drawn and my backpack on, I finally went to my front door. The clock on the wall read three o’clock.

A solid five hours after my cell phone drug me from the depths of slumber. It was work. I had a feeling they’d call at some point, but they managed to ring me up an hour before I expected it.

Me and Jeanette did get a good ride in. Headed out to the Brooklyn Museum of Art. Got there about twenty minutes before they closed. Wandered over to Brooklyn Bretta, the home base for scooterist in the County of Kings. They graciously let me use their bathroom, and then went ahead and closed their shutters. I made my usual pit stop at South 4th, where I planned to get some writing in before the Mets and Yanks started up.

Matsuzaka was pitching to Damon when I walked in.

I’ll get to the bar when I intended to watch the game in about an hour. When they’ll be closing out.

When I get home, I’m seriously considering flipping my couch over. To use a word I abhor; I think it will help my productivity.

Chances are though, I’d end up balancing myself on the ass end of the bunger.

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