When blogging is a chore

I feel a bit weird when I'm out of town and I don't get the chance to blog or even check email because I am usually somewhere where things modern ideas such as "internet" and "technology" are generally frowned upon. So I come back noticing one or two things:
A) No one has been blogging and I've missed nothing; or
B) Everyone has made some insightful point which is too late for me to comment on

I'm not sure where this weekend fell.

So I go eat lunch with E today (I had two beers, she had two [insert whiskey here] and cokes--perhaps lunch is the wrong word), and I bring in a pack of smokes that had found their way into my pocket sometime over the preceding weekend. They belonged to her, so I graciously returned them after I smoked about six or seven. She offered to let me have them, but I really smoked way too much this past weekend (so much in fact that my tips of my thumb and my middle finger on my right hand had a strange orange, nicotine-stained look---gross.). I told her I didn't want them, and I planned on stopping somewhere on the way home to pick up a carton. Which I naturally forgot about until after I have picked up both children and settled in at home. So I'm scavenging the fucking house, looking for any cigarette, checking all of my hiding spots; unfortunately, I am only able to find two empty cigarette boxes. And there's nothing worse than wanting a cigarette and not having it. I will simply say that it has made me a little edgy this afternoon.

This evening, I think I'm going to burn some random country music CDs for E and T. E's problem is that she's never been assimilated into the redneck Texas culture, and T would probably just enjoy some good music that he may not have heard recently. Old country lacks the angst of modern life, but it sure is good to be really fucking beaten down and depressed to. And since alcohol is a depressant, "country music" and it's depressing nature acts as a stimulus for the drinking experience, furthering the drunkeness and the overriding feeling of suicide which pervades the youth of today. I'm thinking some Merle Haggard, but after that I'm up for suggestion--the only rule is that it must not have been recorded within the last 10 years.

Also, it's time for another Shakespeare journal over Antony and Cleopatra, which I haven't read. Nor did I pick up the secondary reading today. Fuck. The reading for my other class is not going to be finished either. This is not a good way to start a week, but it beats shampooing the fucking carpet.