…It rains shit.

So, yeah, my car is fucked up, and OF COURSE, the dealership is claiming the issue isn’t covered under the warranty.

So that means goodbye, four hundred bucks.

There’s a host of other assorted bullshit that goes along with this story-but really, why get into it?

What I should be doing right now is lifting weights and then going for a two-mile run, but instead I’m eating dark chocolate ice cream.

Actually, it’s raspberry  ice cream with a dark chocolate shell, but let’s not split hairs here.

Dealing with health insurance, car insurance, medical transportation, social workers, and everything else is a colossal pain in the ass.

Plus, I have to go and pre-plan my other’s funeral tomorrow morning, and then go back to the SAME DAMN FUNERAL HOME that afternoon to go to a classmate’s wake.

How fucked is that?

On the silver lining side, however, somehow or another I find myself writing yet another feature length screenplay. This one is a psychological thriller. It’s an old idea that I’ve had kicking around for something like eight years, but I think that I finally figured out how to make it work.

The more fucked up and depressing life gets, the more the ‘ol creative juices start flowing.

Go figure.