In Which I am a Slacker

I am a slacker. This fact is inescapable. I've come across few people who were genuinely motivated. Everyone else is like me to whatever degree. I imagine myself somewhere on the spectrum between ready-to-take-on-the-world and stoned-and-hungry-on-the-couch.

My noggin's been a-workin' lately about life, the universe, and everything. And any introspection on my part soon leads to thoughts of Life After College™. Until now, it's been grad school in some locale outside the southwest.

Except not.

There is no graduate school on my foreseeable horizon. Granted my horizon rarely stretches past a few weeks. That's me: few expectations and fewer worries. Does that make me Timon? If so, I need to find my Pumbaa. Jesse could be my Pumbaa. His bottomgas is most certainly foul enough, but he has direction (that sum'bitch) and is nowhere near rotund enough.

My life plan as it stands today: live, write, scratch at stuff, train attack kittens, and die by meteorite leaving my squalid legacy to my ruthlessly adorable feline companions.