Holy Crap, It's September!

I'm used to time passing in a somewhat accelerated manner around me. Most of the time, I've no bloody clue what day it is, so it never surprises me when the weekend hits, but I'm thinking it's Tuesday.

This morning, however, I was temporally bitch-slapped a bit harder than usual.

I woke up and commenced with my usual routine of bending my brain a bit, then conversing with my Rice Krispies, trying (with the philosophical tag-team of Snap, Crackle and Pop) to unlock the mysteries of a universe that allows coffee to be decaffeinated, when I turned on the news, trying to find out when the Fireworks were going to start tonight (having been fairly sure, seeing as it was a long weekend, that it was Independence Day), only to see Jerry Lewis' smiling, yet somewhat exhausted face staring back at me, asking me for money.

This isn't really unusual for me, as Jerry is often over my house asking for a handout, but this time, he was in a tuxedo. That could only mean one thing...

It was fucking Labour Day.

I wasn't a couple of days off, I was a couple of MONTHS off.


Obviously, I need to get more of this peyote.

It's REALLY high quality.