feel awful? falafel....friday.

long days, neighbors.
three quarters full of tattoos,
and three quarters full of responsible adult obligations.
...wait a second, that's one and a half days' worth of time,
every day.
yup.
somehow, i've always got a heck of a lot going on,
even when there's not much on the schedule.
mmhmm.
the hours drag on forever, in the moment,
but overall, they still slip by too quickly.
hmm?
oh,
i don't get it, either.
but that's still a thing.
every day this week,
i've done as much as i can,
fitting spanned times and hard styles into the available hours,
but it doesn't feel like i'm accomplishing a dang thing at all.
plus,
every night this week, i've nodded off into sweaty, fretful nightmares,
in the odd hours i'm actually able to sleep.
...i'm serious.
it might be that circumstances have placed a spate of the least
conversationally, occupationally, and situationally compatible clients
in my tattoo chair at the studio....
really.
y'ever feel like everything you say is pure A*-hole,
even when you are asking relevant questions to the job at hand?
yikes.
(if you've ever been married, you might be able to relate)
anyway,
i'm carrying that stressball knotwork in between my eyes,
and whole other parcel of tension between my shoulders.
ugh.
the only spot that feels alright is my stomach.
that's right.
my guts are well-sorted and sated,
and there's no rumbling roughness to be detected
despite all the tedious turd-trampling workweek weakness i'm experiencing.
why, you ask, is that?
because last night was friday night.
and even though i did my dirt all by my lonely,
i really overdid it to eleven,
and i did it according to the calendar.
the calendar?
a friday where i'm already feeling awful?
uh-oh.
that calls for an alliterative assault on all the available activation.
y'know?
because rules is rules.
OBviously.
what happens next?
feel awful falafel friday.
check the teleport:

that's right, duders.
even more expert than ever,
because i need a little something good to happen every single day,
even if it's up to me to doo-doo that feasting-falafel-freshness-style sh!t.
mmmmhmmmmm.
toasted sesame seed sprankles this time,
...and pickled jalapenos in addition to the pepperoncinis,
and more red cabbage than average.
plus,
there are thinly mandolin sliced cukes under all that vegetation, too.
yuuuuuup.
and just look at how sexxy the foldover is:

c'mon.
that's one burly barbarian bundle of hottness, no?
yes.
and i let myself indulge in it because i've earned it really.
and i made it, too, so nobody handed me a damned thing, either.
that mammoth meal monster was filling and fulfilling in ways that the meager
and measly movie checks of these past days would never compete against.
however,
there was a little bit of extra room in my foodbox,
so i fried up a whole other 'nother batch of spicy balls, y'all.
that's it.
check the too-much-is-the-right-amount-type teleport:

and encore of more!!
and again,
when it gets doubled over,
it's molto impressive as well as massive:

fat.
on the inside.
that's me.
overdoing it is the only answer.
and that's the way i repay my efforts at the end of a long day.
*
it's been a real b!tchass blast of labor-intensive trials.
tedious tattoo times, with long stretches of awkward silence;
lightning-fast free times, fleeting by, and flickering out before they even start.
wide-awake night spikes of struggles and turmoil an' that-
i'm up three or four different times during the sleep cycle,
heart-racing and teeth clenched,
fists-balled and gasping for breath.
i've been fighting, tooth and nail, wrench and hammer, axe and dagger,
in my subconscious, all night every night.
when i close my eyes, all i see is conflict.....
...but all i taste is falafel.
y'win some, y'lose some-
it's all really happening,
except for the dreams.
those are pretend,
and for that, i'm grateful;
never quiet, never soft.....