Saturday:
Road trip to Red Rocks Park features herd of big horn sheep!
Drunk guy pinches Croft’s butt at dance club. Croft punches drunk guy. Drunk guy gets thrown out. Croft dances on. Let the music play.
Teriyaki nachos taste bad.
Sunday:
Liberace museum shows how Liberace put the “gawd” in gaudy.
March:
The CD player is lying by the bed and cobwebs are starting to form on the headset while rust forms on the very inviting escalator. My arms no longer feel like getting heavy and my ability to moderate is starting to grow weak. I am losing my desire to line up the supplements every day and my gag reflex is starting to return. Why do they have to make those pills so big? My fingers still tingle with topo but taking it everyday, I am starting to wonder if it is still going to work.
March is not going well and it appears that my passion for this whole thing has run out. I had big plans for March but now I can hardly get my lips puckered up to kiss the postman when he delivers the Kudzu. What’s worse is that I can see AL lurking in the corner, watching, waiting, knowing that it is just a matter of time before I crumble. My drive by the liquor store is getting slower. I contemplate more and wonder just how much I can push this whole moderate thing. The last thing I want to do is admit to those people who told me I could not moderate that maybe I can’t. In fact, maybe I will hang on just one or two days longer and blame them for allowing this to go on too long. That will show them!
I need to find some renewed vigor for my march. My March! My MARCH FOR MARCH!
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