1. I am officially sick of my Twitter sabbatical. It’s been interesting, it’s been good for me, but at this point I’m only staying off of Twitter because I said I would. I needed a break from Twitter so I could recalibrate my “negativity sensors”. Before this break, I was allowing too much crankiness to effect me. I’d read ten tweets about the Sabres, and nine of them might’ve been totally positive, but I’d dwell on the tenth, crankiest tweet. In this respect, the Twitter sabbatical has been a success. I actually really do think that I’ll be more capable of ignoring the dumb shit now. So, the sabbatical has been overall good.
HOWEVER, Twitter is legitimately useful and fun, for a variety of reasons, and I miss it. There was a tiny part of me that thought maybe after a few days without Twitter I’d suddenly think, “Oooh, the world is sweeter, and more jolly Twitter-free!” This has not been the case. I’m looking forward to resuming my tweety ways on Saturday.
2. I will say this about living a more solitary Sabres existence: when you tell yourself ahead of time that you’re not going to get all grim about a potential loss, it actually totally works. I thought the Sabres played well last night, all things considered. I’m chalking that game up to, “You can’t win ’em all.”
3. I do have one serious complaint about the game. A SERIOUS COMPLAINT.
If there were any justice in this world, Marc Poophead Fleury would have paid dearly for his obnoxious and stupid attempt to score on our empty net. That puck absolutely should’ve ended up in the back of his net, and the Sabres absolutely should’ve capitalized on that momentum to then score AGAIN, and the entirety of the hockey world should ABSOLUTELY be laughing and pointing today at Fleury today. WE SHOULD ALL BE WATCHING THAT BLUNDER ON AN ENDLESS YOUTUBE LOOP, JUST LAUGHING AND LAUGHING. But noooooooo, the Sabres (sans Olden Niedenheimer) were incapable of scoring yesterday.
I feel cheated and betrayed that such a gross display of showboating was not INSTANTLY and SEVERELY punished by the Hockey Gods. Stupid stinky Sabres.
4. From the “I Live Like a 14-Year-Old Boy” Files: I just ate lunch across from this mess which has been on my dining room table for over 36 hours now.
Two nights ago I decided to re-pot some plants, so I got out the dirt and went to work. Ordinarily, this is something I would clean up right away (seeing as though it’s an actual pile of dirt on my main dining surface) but for some reason I failed to do so in this circumstance. Now the dirt has become a point of amusement to me, and I find myself wondering how long I can stand to live with a pile of dirt on my table. It’s almost a personal challenge at this point.
I’d like to say that my failure to clean this up has something to do with my desire for Spring and how the dirt (and my little dirt-scoop) make me feel like spring is right around the corner, but honestly, I think this would be a lie. The dirt is there because two nights ago I was lazy. The dirt is staying there because not only am I lazy, but against all reason, I’m somehow CHARMED by my own laziness.
Actually, now that I’ve written about this I am no longer amused by this dirt. I disgust myself. As soon as I get done typing this sentence I’m going to clean it up.
UPDATE: Everyone calm down. The dirt has been cleaned, and the floor has been swept.