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rejectomorph

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Split [Feb. 23rd, 2013|10:20 pm]
rejectomorph
That odd, split-shift sleeping pattern I had for a while last year appears to be returning. It happened yesterday and again today. I don't mind so much sleeping from three o'clock in the morning until seven o'clock in the morning, but the nap from two o'clock in the afternoon until six o'clock in the evening creates havoc all night. Plus there are few things I find more depressing than waking up at sunset. Here it is going on ten o'clock and I still haven't decided if I should eat breakfast or dinner. Maybe I should just eat lunch.

Last Sunday I bought two new pairs of pants. Today I put one pair on and it's too long. I haven't tried the other pair yet, but the pair I bought last year was too long, too. They are all marked 34' length, which is what I've worn for years. When I bought the pair last year, I thought maybe they had just mis-labeled them, but now I'm not so sure. I have a bit of trepidation about trying on the other new pair. If they are also too long, it must be that I've started shrinking. It seems unlikely that garment makers would suddenly start adding extra length to pants. It would cost them extra money for the additional cloth. But I don't like the idea of shrinking, so I'm going to hope that garment makers have become extravagant for some reason.

This evening I came across a web site with some old city directories for Denver, and I squandered a couple of hours looking at them. As I don't want to think I've wasted time on a pointless activity, I'm going to pretend that I'm about to be kidnapped by some shadowy group with a time machine and taken to Denver in 1927, and when I escape from them I'll at least know where the movie theaters are located and I can go watch movies to take my mind off of my predicament.

I'm just not sure where I'll get the money for tickets, though, as I have no old coins on hand. I might have to rob a bank or something. If I vanish from LJ, check old Denver newspapers to see if they report that I was executed in 1928 for shooting a bank teller. Of course, I'd have to steal a gun before I could rob the bank. Oh, hell. I wish I was still young and cute enough to become a prostitute, but I'm shrinking, damn it! How am I going to survive in 1927, old and without a gun to rob a bank with? Stupid shadowy groups and their time machines! I guess I'll just have to admit that I wasted my time looking at old Denver city directories on the Internets. Even my fantasies work against me! I blame that split-shift sleeping pattern.
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