There are 18,446,744,073,709,551,616 possible ways to fill out your NCAA basketball tournament bracket. Like lots of people this year, my bracket is horrible. I've filled out a tournament bracket as long as I can remember. The past few years I've also completed the Yahoo! Tourney brackets for fun. Last season I did fairly well (there were at least one million participating). Right now I'm in the 41st percentile.
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The bathroom door was his favorite instrument. His dead uncle used to be an almsman. Diocletian might have been indifferent to him. Reason and emotion fought constantly for control of his conclusions. He had secrets. His mother was the type of person that was only happy when the trashcan was empty. He called his girlfriend and played "Happy Birthday" with the buttons. He ate his cereal from Cool Whip® bowls that were older than he. His eyes were not prejudice. He hated his parents for ever knowing one another. He hated good things for ever existing. Syllogism made a hammock of his ear on weekends. He made a full time job of sanity. His body was celibate. He liked to jar people out of complacency. He was heard to say that she is very biological. His skin gradually failed him. He cared more about strangers than himself. He was mad at his God. He suffered from reverse colposinquanonia. Early morning ecclesiastical façades frightened him. He was forced to live by the few people he cared about. He read with a pencil on his left and a Hi-Liter® to his right. His superego dominated his trine.
I have a beard. Shave? Shave not?
I need to go pick up a timesheet tomorrow.
There's been so many things flowing through this weird, rattled brain of mine. Maybe I'll write it all down one day and sell it.
I was called a guru yesterday by one of my instructors. That makes you feel good. I don't think I'm a guru of anything, even the field between my ears.
I'm still young enough to have hopes and dreams. I'm still young enough to fall in love in an instant. I'm still young enough to start over. I'm still young enough to feel like a child, in every way. I'm still young enough to call my father "Daddy". I'm still young enough to notice pendulosity beneath the showerhead, and pretend that I'm inside it. I'm still young enough, I reckon.
I'm ugly.
