Facing the facts

I turned 47 last week.
I am officially registered to vote, but I'm still not sure that I'm going to.
Nothing has cheered me in years like the Boston Red Sox.
My big toe on my right foot hurts. It's the toenail. I can't reach it, it's under the skin.
I dyed my hair red Wednesday. It turned out much darker than I wanted it to, and darker than the box said it would. At least it covered the grey.
My attempts to start a new band haven't been all that successful yet.
I'm out of coffee.
Man I love chilly weather. I don't sweat as much and I look so good in a jacket.
I wrote 2 songs this week, both with lyrics.
This is beginning to sound like Larry King.
My computer is OK now, but it's really old and cranky. I think I will call it "Mark".
Why can't I find a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball hat like they used to wear in the 70's? You remember, they were yellow with black stripes and looked kinda bee-like? I want one bad.
Where is my wah wah pedal? I can't find it anywhere? Didn't I get it back from Ben Watson?
I really wish I had a fat bag of weed. Or a skinny joint. Or some seeds. Or a Valium.
My window is open, and it's 40 degrees outside. Ahh...
I just passed wind. Noisy, but fragrance free.
I should never write a blog entry like this one ever again. Under penalty of law.