I look down at my watch - a blue Casio now - and mumble 'shut the fuck up.' Name the location: walking toward the beer store on the corner of 17th and Snyder. Sitting at home (pick one, a few different places are 'home' right now.) 7:21pm is when I cuss at my watch, because I'm not writing my life down. I press a tiny silver button to silence the nagging alarm. I'm reminded once again that I have goals - writing down my life - and I hit the snooze button every day. I'm irritated by the reminder that I ought to be getting something done. Anything. Literally anything done. Any fucking thing done, dude, any single fucking thing. Snooze. Booze. No booze? Still snooze.