Far as I can tell, we are five maybe six years into this century, and we ain’t got no good little nickname for it when referring to the year.

Is it “two thousand” or is it “twenty?” And, really, does anyone give a shit?

The best part of being at M.’s for the new year just might be the soothing affect on my lazy ass soul. I have a million fourteen to a million and a half things to get done at my place. But, I can’ts do ’em, ‘cuz the homestead is almost 3,000 miles away. Yeah, rock on lazy me.

For maybe two whole seconds, I’m going to live 2005 guilt-free. At least until my normal neurotic self kicks in and I perceive all of my faults and flaws and shortcomings and needs for apologies. Gonna enjoy those two seconds like the sweetest of fruit on an orgasm vine though.