I’m running on fumes this morning, — the kind of tired where your soul is still in bed but your body is upright out of sheer contractual obligation. These late‑night football games are gonna be the end of me. I swear the Colorado Buffaloes wait until I’m half‑asleep to pull off something dramatic, just so I can stagger around the next day like a man who’s been through a small emotional war. But hey, they beat Georgia Tech, so I guess I’ll allow it.
No walk for Cooper today — he looked at me like, “Really? We’re skipping my morning patrol?” Meanwhile I'm over here trying to negotiate with my eyelids like they’re free agents demanding a better contract. At least I’ve got that three‑day weekend coming up, which feels like the promised land. I can practically hear my future nap calling out to me like a gospel choir.
So here I sit, clutching my coffee like it’s the last lifeline on Earth, and at the very last minute I decide, “You know what this morning needs? Marvelle Hampton.” And honestly, that’s a power move. Sweet soul sounds to soothe the football‑induced chaos rattling around my skull.
Naturally — in true collector geek fashion — I recorded the B‑side first. It’s the “preferred” side, the one with that secret‑handshake energy. But I realize the A‑side is boss with a capital B, and I'm questioning why I gave in to the soul collectors preference recording order, my sleep schedule, and possibly the entire concept of alphabetical sequencing.
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