I went to the DMV, and I was in and out of there in literally less than five minutes. Absolutely, unfathomably, inconceivable.

Seriously, I walked inside, and there was no line, so I was immediately ushered to the information booth where I was given a number for my circumstances (renewing tag), along with the invoice. I sat down and pulled out my checkbook, and began writing “City of Atlanta Tax Commis-” and then my number is called. Dumbfounded, I sit down in front of the lady behind the glass, as she looks at me impatiently as I fill out the rest of my check. I tear the check off, give it to her, and she gives me my new 2010 blue tag sticker, and I’m literally like “that’s it?” and, unamused, she looks back at me, and responds “that’s it.” And then I’m back out the door.

It took me four times longer to drive to and from the place than it did to get my tags renewed.

Otherwise, life is, still pretty weary these days. I haven’t found faith yet, but I have been strangely less inclined to blurt out “GOD DAMN IT” and other supposed blasphemous terms. Yet the most extreme of my actions was that I was in my car listening to an old CD, and when Marilyn Manson’s The Fight Song came on, and the lyrics where it goes “I’m not a slave, to a god, that doesn’t exist,” I instinctively skipped the rest of the track. For some reason, it just doesn’t feel appropriate to be listening to that, lately.