The Week That Was Vs. The Week That Wasn't

The Wednesday That Was

I get up late for work, hung over. My performance at work is sluggish and subpar. I wear a new shirt but receive no compliments.

After work, instead of writing as planned, I call Kevin. We go to Irish Times. Afterwards, we go to my Aunt Wendy's (She's out of town, and I am watering her plants. If you ever go out of town and ask me to water your plants, you should know that I will get shitfaced there at least 1.5 times for every week that you are gone.) where we split a case of shitty beer and an unshitty frozen pizza. We wind up having a discussion about human existence that might as well have been about fast cars.

The Cubs are a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Wednesday That Wasn't

I get up with the sun. After deciding to triple my daily morning workout regiment since I am feeling it, I show up late to work. No one cares, because I am wearing a new shirt, and it looks fantastic on me. That is all anyone talks about, and I am promoted.

After work, instead of writing, I am forced to answer questions about my new shirt (where I got it, how much it cost, would it be possible to cut off the sleeves for the ladies, etc.). Kevin kills himself, leaving a suicide note stating: If only Keith had called.

I ponder the meaning of human existence and figure out the meaning of life. This helps me in coping with my friend's death.

The Cubs pick up another game on the Cardinals, raising their lead to 20 1/2 games.

The Thursday That Was

I have the day off and am able to wake up late enough to not feel the effects of my hangover. I water Aunt Wendy's plants before leaving her house.

At home, I nap in front of the TV. I wake up to watch Italy beat France on penalty kicks. I find the ending anti-climatic despite not having watched any of the game.

Instead of writing, I masturbate, and not even God Himself notices the difference.

The Cubs remain a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Thursday That Wasn't

No need to wake up since I never slept; figuring out the meaning of life takes a while. As the sun comes up I make a vow to find a way to bring my fallen friend back from the dead.

I am immediately sidetracked when an idea for a script hits me. I sit down at my computer (which is not only working, but better and newer than Jonny's) and write. Two hours later, the script which will be come to be known as the thinking man's Citizen Kane is born.

I masturbate for the rest of the day.

The Cubs lead is now 21 1/2 games.

The Friday That Was

Not having drank the night before, I wake up feeling like I have actually slept. Work winds up being about the same as if I had been hung over, and I make a vow to never not drink again.

That night, I write... Well, I rewrite... Fine, I just delete some dumb shit I wrote a couple of weeks ago, but at least I try, goddammit.

The Cubs remain a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Friday That Wasn't

Rereading my script, I am floored to realize that the first word on every fifth page if read in succession reveals the secret to raising the dead. It's not an easy task, (Hint: The first five words are, "Get Roc to blog about...") but I somehow manage to bring Kevin back to life.

Zombie-Kev and I go out to Irish Times. It becomes clear straight off that Zombie-Kev is not quite the laid-back gentleman that the Kevin That Wasn't was, as Zombie-Kev, upon being told that there are no brains on the menu, smashes our waitress's head into mine, killing us both.

Cubs win!

The Saturday That Was

I plant myself next to the phone and wait for Joe L. to call and invite me along to Hot Doug's. By eleven it is clear that the call is not coming.

I embrace the Hemingway/Kevin Solution.

The Cubs remain a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Saturday That Wasn't

N/A

The Sunday That Was

N/A

The Sunday That Wasn't

N/A

The Monday That Was

N/A

The Monday That Wasn't

N/A

The Tuesday That Was

N/A

The Tuesday That Wasn't

N/A