I was feeling a bit down yesterday because of a combination of allergies and work, but I got home just after 9, and ninety minutes later I was feeling a lot better because I could say, "Well, thank God at least I'm not Bobby Jindal."
If you combine a heavy work schedule, evening fatigue, a partner who goes to bed relatively early, being a light sleeper, and chronic horniness, you end up having a lot of sex at three in the morning. 3 am sex is great during busy season because it only takes about half an hour from when I wrap my arm around b&c and start to play with his cock to when I pull out of his ass and kiss him goodnight (again). And then I still get a few hours of sleep before I have to get up to go to work. Morning sex is probably better on days when you're sleeping until 8 or 9, but when you have to be up by 7, middle-of-the-night sex wins. This morning, though, it was a struggle not to fuck him again at 7, but I really didn't want to be late to work, so I just followed the bouncing erection to the shower, where it went away of its own accord in the hot water.
If I'm really beat when I step into the shower in the morning, I end the shower with a series of thirty-second blasts of cold water alternating with equally long blasts of very hot water. I invariably sing "La Vie en Rose" (in French, naturally) while I do this. It is very bracing. It is also an excellent cure for a hangover, but in that case I suggest you (because you are much more likely to be hung over than I: I have not needed the hangover cure for many years) choose different music. Something low, with a theme of repentance: a spiritual perhaps.
Mostly I spend my shower time daydreaming. I try not to daydream about sex, especially when I'm trying to get rid of the morning wood, but I don't always succeed. Often I dream about my notional country estate/monastery, which I have notionally relocated to rural Virginia, in light of how the state voted in the last election. There are a lot of things that I would like to grow that would be easier to grow in central or southern Virginia than in the mountains of southwestern Pennsylvania, where the notional country estate/monastery had hitherto been notionally located.
These days I spend a fair amount of time worrying about the national debt. I would have worried about it in the past, but then I had my own debt to worry about. I am currently about two weeks away from making the last payment on my car loan, after which I will have no debt whatsoever, at least until I buy my parents' Pennsylvania house (or the notional country estate/monastery in Virginia). But I still remember reading about haciendas in my sixth grade social studies class. The commoners who worked on the haciendas didn't have any money, so they borrowed from the haciendado and then tried to work off the debt, but all that happened was that they got deeper and deeper into debt. The analogy doesn't play out exactly with a country and its citizens, but it's nonetheless true that Americans now owe our collective soul to the company store, and that's very troubling. Please note however, that inheriting a huge debt is not a reason to not have a stimulus package, unless you're a moron. Doing nothing would be a lot worse, but in this case the less bad option is still plenty bad. It's no wonder that I want to retreat to my country estate/monastery to meditate, farm, and fuck, but even there I'd have to pay property taxes. Il faut cultiver nos jardins, but that doesn't mean we can escape the financial crisis.
Yesterday was Mardi Gras, which means that today is the beginning of Lent. I'm not a Catholic, but I still believe in giving up things for Lent, especially if it's others doing the giving up. For most people, especially bloggers, I typically recommend forty days without introspection, but that wouldn't be much of a sacrifice for me. I briefly considered giving up chocolate, but, in the end, I decided to give up moderation instead. Be very afraid.