But you can’t his cries for help over the sound of the dog barking at him for being in her yard.

The word of the day is: Winded.

[ win-did ] adjective out of breath. having wind or breath of a specified kind (usually used in combination): short-winded; broken-winded.

I’m not trying to catch my breath.

I’m just getting a hit of the undiluted flatus right outta the tap.

That’s when the floral and fruity notes really show up.

I think I’ve landed in the sweet spot of my mental illnesses.

Anxious enough to be considered excited.

Delirious enough to think life is funny.

Exhausted enough to be easy going.

And not introverted just enough to make people think I’m sad about missing their holiday parties.

It’s this kind of ready-to-nap on the Lebowski Plateau vibe.

Maybe it’s all the cookies.

They’re fucking everywhere right now.

Seriously.

I can’t go anywhere without cookies being there.

Just waiting on me.

And I can’t just NOT eat them.

That’d be rude.

Right?

Look at me talking like I know how humans interact.

You should see my notes for the memoir I’m writing.

It reads like “These are instructions for what human beings put into books.”

Did you ever see the documentary “Exit Through the Gift Shop”?

I feel like I’m making a documentary about myself that I think is coherent and brilliant, but in reality it in a bunch of nonsense smashed together into a patty shaped like a hyperreal simulacrum of a book.

I’ll be like “This is a book like normal people make and read because I am a normal person who is just like everyone else.”

And the seven people that actually read it are going to be like “Should we tell him?”

And I’ll just continue taking photos of myself every day.

But the point is…

I really like cookies.

I should probably go move a bunch of furniture.

See ya’ tomorrow.

More soon. ~SC