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stupid first world problems you're dealing with


Guest KY

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I've managed to not get any colds at all this year, though I have the occasional morning where I've got sniffles, or I might cough a bit at night.  But somehow it never goes beyond that... which makes me suspicious, because I'm one of those people who has a cold for like two months straight.  My fear is that my immune system's saving up for the big one.  You know, one of those colds that actually kills you.

 

FWP: I need to refigure out some song I wrote over a year ago and then do a super tight guitar double.  I sense great frustration and irritation on my horizon.

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I only get colds off other people. I managed to pass nearly the entire winter without a cold and them someone in my team comes in after fighting a cold, while still sick, and drops a stack of leave certs on my desk, which they've presumably had their fingerprints and invisible specks of phlegm all over. boom, I get sick. I was attacked with a biological weapon.

 

pho is great during a cold, second that.

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Sundubu also, which is Korean hot tofu soup. Excellent decongestant.

I rarely get sick tho, which is kinda weird. What I lack in metabolism, I make up for in antibodies I guess.

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My band had the most morale crushing trainwreck at our gig last night.  We were the 2nd of 3 acts in the lineup, everything fine through the first two songs, then we get to the 3rd (a waaay-altered Cure cover that we've probably practiced 300+ times and have been gigging out for the last 2 years) and someone's IN THE WRONG FUCKING KEY.  Our female vocalist and myself (drummer) just look at each other in horror and after 8 or 10 bars I/we call uncle and just stop.  Doesn't help that the neither of our front ppl have the kind of stage presence to laugh it off, joke with the audience, etc. so the awkward silence is palpable.

 

Then we restart and whoever was in the wrong fucking key is still in the wrong fucking key, only this time there's no stopping, only 3-1/2 minutes of pain and embarrassment. As this point I wanted to kick over the kit, destroy every guitar and bass onstage and walk out into the ocean.  And we still had like 9 songs left.

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I think I may have just written my best song, but I'm also weary that I might just be manic and experiencing delusions of grandeur.  If I'm not... what if I can never write another as good again?  Either way I've got some kind of FWP on my hands.

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I think I may have just written my best song, but I'm also weary that I might just be manic and experiencing delusions of grandeur.  If I'm not... what if I can never write another as good again?  Either way I've got some kind of FWP on my hands.

 

 

Just make sure that the next track you start working on is completely different. I tried copying one of my own tracks for 3 years until I realised that that wasn't going to work.

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Made a hearty bowl of porridge and added some pineapple chunks and blueberries to really push it into healthyboi mode. There was lots of pineapple juice at the bottom of the plastic carton the pineapple comes in; thought I'd add that to the porridge and sweeten it up a bit. As it turns out, pineapple juice (not the processed kind) isn't so much sweet as just really, really acidic. Ended up with a bowl of porridge that tasted like bile and/or puke, ate about 1/2 and eventually gave in and binned the lot. HEED THIS LESSON.

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Thor somehow managed to get his tail in my chai. I didn't notice until a few mins later when he spread himself out on the desk in front of me, by which time it had hardened in a clot that looked suspiciously like a shit-streak. in a panic not to get it everywhere, and also not prompt him to interpret my sudden interest in his tail as a playful gesture which would cause him to immediately flee with the expectation of a chase, I quietly dabbed some crumpled tissues with water and slowly, carefully, with extreme suspense, poised myself to grab his tail. he watched me, knowing 'shit' (chai) was about to go down/get real. I lunged - he dodged and nearly got away - but I managed to pin him down and begin the arduous process of cleaning off the streak, amidst his violent protestations. my flesh was exquisitely rent by the time I got it all off and realised that it was, indeed, not shit.

 

there's a moral to this story somewhere, I'm just not woke enough to know what it is.

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now the little SHIT is running up and down the fucking corridor I swear I just want to let his shitface meet my fist.

and FUCK his stupid parents who just ignore it

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