Sidekicks wanted

For as long as I can remember, I've relied on emotional fuel to give purpose and therefore content to my writing. The first time I had to write an essay in second grade, I struggled. I couldn't for the life of me, figure out what to say--until I decided to write it from the perspective of an irate citizen protesting against the use of billboards next to freeways as they were dangerous, distracting, and a blight upon the perfection of God's creations. I denounced the crap out of those billboards and I'm pretty sure I made off with an A grade.

"So what gives, Rob? Why are you telling me about your pre-adolescent writing patterns instead of filling this page with your razor sharp wit and god-like analysis of all things pertaining to the very fabric of my wellbeing? I want to hear why you win at everything forever times infinity."

We'll get to why I win. But first, down to brass tacks.

The issue is, I'm actually very cool with the way things are going and as such, I've got little motivation to blog. I inspiration---otherwise what comes out is pretty much drivel. Words lacking any true meaning or congruency to how I really feel. In short, they're just words.
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Consequently, I need two people.

One of you will be my personal devil/demon. You will follow me around and whisper ill-advised, uncouth, and/or illegal suggestions into my ear. You will wear a red onesy and perch, whenever possible, on my left shoulder (sinestra). Bonus points for wielding a pitchfork. More for having one that shoots fire. If unable to grow facial hair in the shape of a goatee, applicants are encouraged to steal some from a friend or use a black marker. Tattoos also acceptable. Faux-devil is also required to laugh maniacally in a booming bass upon sighting my person. This is non negotiable.

The other party will play the role of the angel. You will generally disagree with the devil and talk in an unnecessarily high pitched voice. You must constantly be surrounded by some variety of flying white fowl. Doves? Seagulls? Albino crows? You decide. I'm not picky. Just make sure it flies and acts majestic. You'll also loan me money when I'm short and fetch me expensive caffeinated beverages so I don't have to listen to your annoyingly high pitched babbling all day.

I'll be accepting applications till March or whenever something suitably drastic happens to me. Whichever comes sooner.

Zzz...

The irony of all ironies is that, as I sit here typing this grossly superfluous message to a non-existent (or very comment averse audience), I am nearing almost a full year of employment at sleep lab...where we study all the fun, deleterious effects of prolonged sleep deprivation. Clearly logic has ceased to play a significant role in whatever planning mechanism is currently under my mind's employ. Long story short, I stayed up an extra five hours. And according to the little voice in the back of my mind that insists that there is more work to be done, I will probably be up until the sun rises or whenever someone catches me in the act of maiming my sleep patterns---whichever comes sooner. I wasn't partying. I wasn't having deep philosophical conversation. I stayed up to read the NEWS.

I have become an abomination. I have the sleeping habits of a freshman frat pledge and the interests of someone at least 2 times my age. I can literally hear the newsboy dropping off copies of the Times and the worst part is that I know he's late. Tomorrow is going to be difficult.