Flush It Friday: Sleep is for the Broke and Boring

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This week, Flush It Friday is brought to you by a very cranky pumpkin baby by the name of HessianHunter.

The Bad: I am typing this at 4:30 AM the day of publication because my life is fucking absurd. I just worked about 17 hours between 8 AM Thursday and 4 AM Friday. I’m used to working long doubles between my two jobs, but this last day was particularly outrageous. Inexcusable, really. I missed seeing my friends play with Mutilation Rites because my coworker is on tour and I gotta cover for him. I feel like cold, wet garbage from staying up late for shows and getting up early to teach kids so many days in a row, and then working my other job where I bike food to drunk college kids in bone-freezing Minnesota winters.

I end up biking well over a hundred of miles a week in snowy, busy streets, starting and stopping constantly and swerving around idiotic/slow drivers. That shit makes me ache. Then I go play drums like Animal from The Muppets and get even more sore. Then I go see a sick band like Whores. play and drink and dance a bunch and get even sore-er-er. Then I sleep 4 hours and do the shit all over again. Almost every day. For years now.

All this bodily abuse is starting to get to me. My feet hate me for shoving them into tight-fitting clipless bike shoes so often. My calves scream for mercy when I start double-kicking at band practice after a full day of courier work. The knots in my neck muscles have a mortgage and two kids by now, they’re so old. Don’t even get me started on how chapped my ass gets from sitting in a bike saddle all day.

The Good: When I deliver on the darkest, coldest nights, no matter how bleak the roads, how cruel the winds, or hammered the Chads and Britneys on campus are, there is a light. My path is illuminated by my personal Lord and Savior of having a righteous time, the Party Pope himself, Andrew WK. Not only do his righteous jams fill my legs with vim and vigor, but this sage advice always gives me resolve for the long roads ahead, both literal and metaphorical.

 

 

I don’t generally complain about my long days, because really I’m a lucky sumnabitch to have two fun, well-paying jobs that are flexible enough to let me see and play a million show every month and even take extended time off to tour. I get to hang with kids and ride bikes for a living; some folks struggle to find any job at all, even a shitty one. My FOMO and near-manic drive to create and experience art have led me to have a deep and wide web of creative friends who do all kinds of dope shit all across the country. Another tour is approaching and I can’t fucking wait to spend hours and hours in a cramped van with my best friends and meet new homies all around the U.S.
Someday I’ll sleep. Until then, it’s time to party, and we will party hard.

The Ugly: I have worn the same pair of smelly-ass socks for the last 3 days of hard labor and playing shows. At this point I’m too scared to take them off because I have no idea what lies inside them; it’s probably not human feet anymore. Could be horse cock dildos molded from raw sewage for all I know. All I know for sure is it doesn’t just smell bad; it smells alien. I don’t recognize them as a part of my body anymore, and they terrify me.

OH HEY I GUESS IT’S TIME FOR AN OPEN SWIM. I’M GOING THE FUCK TO BED NOW BECAUSE I HAVE TO BE BACK AT WORK IN 3 HOURS. HERE’S A HEART WRENCHING VIDEO OF MY WAIFU ANNIE CLARK (ST. VINCENT) SAYING SHE LOVES ME. NO, NOT YOU, ME. SHE’S WITH ME, DAMMIT, OR LIFE ISN’T WORTH LIVING AT ALL.

 

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