blundering about at thirty two
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
This must have been the slowest day of the year. We finally escaped my hungover apartment at around 3 and went to retrieve the car. Then we did a bit of plant shopping (my girlfriend is filling the 'planter' that she's fashioned from a cross-section of empty tree that my mum spotted and collected for the purpose). Then we ate at a really cool little pub on Yonge St called "Mad Murphy's" or something like that, and then I think we watched the premiere of "DaVinci's Inquest". I had to scramble to get some bits of coax cable so that I could record something on one channel while watching another.And with that, the journal has sunk to yet another new low: I just related which TV shows we watched. Ah, hell, who am I kidding. After three giant cups of red wine duked it out with as many of those poisonous vodka stoly things, my body was a ravaged war zone of hangoveria, and the bloody TV was the highlight of the day. Or was it the burger at "Mad Murphy's"? Yes, the burger.