I am actually getting better, but it is only April and there's a lot of baseball left to play, not to mention the playoffs are beginning for the heavily favored Celtics (I can't believe I'm actually typing "heavily favored" and "Celitcs" in the same sentence, let alone consecutively - as opposed to "The Celtics of course got demolished by the heavily favored Tennessee Lady Vols"), and the Bruins are never going to allow me to have any hope for them against the Canadiens in the first place. But my girlfriend hasn't killed me (yet) and my dog has not quite chewed off all her own skin out of anxiety caused by my violent reactions to bullshit calls ("Your honor, I object." "Why?" "Because it's devastating to my case."). So I think I've made progress.
That said, I am watching the Red Sox and Yankees right now (top of the 7th, 11-9 Spanks). And my stomach is trying to grab my balls through my ass. Uncomfortable. And Jill and I are spending our first night on vacation in celebration of her upcoming birthday. I should just turn off the TV, right? Right. But SHE wants to watch it! So the next best thing for me is to blog while my dog Keely senses my inner turmoil and restlessly tries to find the nearest possible exit for when the hammer comes.
I'm definitely not getting any tonight.
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