ex time

Every month on the eleventh at 12:24 am and pm, my snazzy old watch is right on time. Timex. Takes a lickin'. Keeps on tickin'. Soon as I find a battery.

No exes were actually intended to be thought about upon typing this. But of course, what can I expect after 2 straight days of complete and utter boredom? It's time to drift into badland. The curse of the ex style nostalgia. Fuck that. I'm refusing to mess with exes. That includes the one in Texas. Hey, that rhymed.
I need to get out more. Like now.