07.11.2002 - Jigga who?

I haven't been feeling myself lately.

Never fear-- I have been a-jerkin' it. I just seem to keep experiencing things that are just not normal for The Jeffy. I am going through a change and I'm not sure I like it.

No, I'm not going through THE change. I'm still bleeding. Don't worry. SOMEONE KNOCK ME UP WHILE I'M STILL FERTILE.

Man-uterus talk aside, I've got more disturbing things going on:

ITEM ONE: I don't know how or when it happened, but I think I've actually started enjoying my job. Yes. The same job that made me contemplate jogging a lap around my office while emptying a semi-automatic weapon into the sea of fake smiles sayin' "money ain't a thang," before taking a header out the window. The same job that made me think, "hey artificially inseminating large mammals for a living might not be that bad." The same job that made me feel like punching myself in the testicles repeatedly in order to distract myself from the horror of my reality.

Yes that one. I kind of like it now.

It might be because this is the first time I've ever worked for someone smarter than me. It might be because I no longer have to fetch my boss' lunch. It might be because I can disappear from my desk for roughly a half an hour and come back to have people congratulate me for doing such good work.

It could be any number of thing. Regardless of what it is, it scares the hell out of me because I can't tell if the job broke me down or I finally discovered how to not give one tenth of one shit about what I'm doing for my money so long as I'm getting it and getting it regularly.

ITEM TWO: I've begun a regular workout program. After spending roughly five years without getting any more exercise than sprinting to catch an especially tricky ice cream truck and allowing my ass to balloon to the point that the Macy's Parade people keep calling me, I've decided it's high time I started getting active. As such, I have started lifting weights and/or using an eliptical trainer at a neighboring apartment complex every day.

When I'm famous and in shape, there won't be a dry crotch in all of California.

ITEM THREE: I have suddenly become a messy, messy bastard. This probably comes as a result of my roommates breaking me. At the beginning of my year here, I did a lot of cleaning. Sometime around March, however, I decided I had enough of pulling this horse cart and stopped cleaning in the hopes that my roommates might think, "hey, I don't necessarily enjoy wading through a knee high pile of trash when I want to get from the door to my bedroom. Maybe I should put away my dishes and miscellaneous belongings." That never happened, so I just said fuck it and sunk into slovenliness.

Now that I've become disgusted with myself, I've tried to get things clean, but it's reached the point of no return. This apartment should be set on fire when we move. It would save a lot of effort and probably keep its future inhabitants from costly hospital visits.

Yeah, so this ain't your mother's Jeffy. Hopefully I'm still my mother's Jeffy, or I'm in for some added confusion. Maybe my brother was right when he told me I was adopted. Sure, I cried in my room for three weeks then and refused to eat anything but play-doh for another two months while my mom tried to convince me that it was untrue, but it makes total sense now.

Total sense.

Hopefully, my world as I know it will find some sense of stability soon and I can slip into another set of habits and patterns.

But so long as things are changing, how's about I get a place to live for next year, a DVD player, a regular source of 'tang and a cloud that rains twenties to follow me around twenty-four hours a day?