A very specific type of laziness swoops in to ward off any hint of productivity I had bottled and saved for such an afternoon. Instead, the mental flip flopping resumes until I surrender to another hour of restless nothing and bad habits. Dickens called it the mongrel hour. I think it’s more day dream rickrack.
I’d call it “Fifty Thousand Volts of Irony.”
"I’ve discovered my gym is full of beautiful lesbians."
Me: Thomas, come here, we need to talk.
Me: We’re going to be sharing this big house together all week, so you know what that means?
Thomas: You have a mustache.
Me: That’s right, and what does that mean?
Thomas: That your mustache will grow?
Me: Yes. So what is the lesson here?
Thomas: Don’t be loud in the house.
This is the best kid on earth.