Actually, that title is misleading. I'm not sure I know why. I only know that cleaning the bathroom is way better than, oh, I don't know, writing questionable email messages (actually, to be perfectly honest, I think the writing in the email messages I've recently sent while high on four beers was fine; I mean, I am proud of my ability to spell while buzzed, to write somewhat grammatically [I do take creative license with some rules, but I think I'm mostly aware when I'm breaking them], to say what I'm thinking... but the messages in those messages... the meaning behind the words themselves: I'm not sure if I thought it through. I'm not sure if I said everything or if I said too much, and that puts me in a pickle. Re-reading is no help, and these were messages that were essentially sent out as if out to the gods: no answers will be forthcoming and none are expected). Originally there was a question mark at the end of that sentence, but now I'm confused.
OK, so maybe my writing isn't as good as I wish it was.
Lest you (I love that word, "lest" - it makes me want to address you as "thou") get the wrong idea: cleaning the bathroom is respectable work. Writing email can be respectable work, when conducted in a sound or if not sound, conscious state. Or if not conscious: a funny state. A slightly interesting state. Not blithering stupidity, no, no, not that state at all.
Yep.
This is just the absolute longest week ever.
We've been planning a party for my boss... her birthday is tomorrow. I fucking hate planning office parties. We took up a collection for buying the gift and cake and crap, and somehow I was in charge of organizing everyone, and everything. Luckily I was able to delegate some tasks to others (decorations, for example), but still. It's a big pain in my butt. Coupled with that (I also like that word: "coupled") is the flute choir concert, which technically I should be practicing for right now. And there are some top-secret gift buying things and flower buying things I had to do. On top of that, Pat's going to training next week in Silicon Valley, and the responsibility of running this household and caring for three very needy cats will be all mine, and just thinking about it is making me a bit wacko. "Running this household" consists of feeding them, cleaning up after them, playing with them (the easiest part of these easy tasks). I keep thinking I will organize and straighten up and throw shit away and whip this home into a lean, mean, clean abode (I do not like that word: abode is right out of Mr. Collins, from Pride and Prejudice) -
but thy knows the truth:
I will be laying on the couch every night watching the Kathy Griffin show, Sandra Bullock movies, "Top Chef" marathons and stopping at the nail salon on the way home from work; reading and eating enormous bowls of popcorn (I haven't had popcorn since February, which is just impossible), reading and eating whole watermelons all by myself; talking on the phone, going to bed at a reasonable hour: I know that my week of being alone is going to be about as exciting and productive as I am on my days off, when my list of things to do gets forgotten the minute I find something to read online.
Anyway.
It's been a long week. Next week will be long, too, but in a different way.
...
Here's a totally unrelated, funny story about my niece:
Yesterday was her birthday. She's nine. We hadn't yet heard anything from her parents about a party; her little brother's birthday is in a week, and they've been having dual parties for as long as he's been alive but I thought I heard their mom say last year that that was the last one...? Anyway, so after work, we called over there to wish her a happy birthday.
Me and her are talking, you know, and I get the biggest kick out of talking to her, especially on the telephone. She's got such a sweet, funny personality. Anyway, so I asked her how school was, and she said something about getting out early. I said, "Oh, was it your last day?" And she goes, yeah. Then she tells me her mom and dad took them to Disneyland, and we talked about that for awhile (Disneyland in the middle of the week! What kind of world are these children growing up in!). Then I asked her what she wants for her birthday (books, which is awesome, because I love getting her books. She needs: Where the Red Fern Grows, The Island of the Blue Dolphins, and some other book I couldn't understand the title of. Anyway, so after devising in my head my plan to buy two copies of each (one for me, one for her: I can't believe I never read those two books), she asked me, "What did you do today?" And I said, "Oh, I went to work." And she asks me,
"Was it your last day?"
...
And in other news: I lost .4 pounds this week, making my grand total of weight lost: 15.6 pounds. I can't fucking believe it. 1.6 pounds and I'll be the actual weight on my driver license. No, wait. 10 pounds AFTER THAT I'll be the actual weight on my driver license. Well: the closest I've been since forever. Good for me.
Finally, I'll close this long-winded, practically stream of conscious entry with these words:
This is my 200th post on Blogger, and while I am pleased to still be here, and have posted something almost every day for the past couple of months, it would make me very happy if whoever you are out there reading this might write me a comment and say hello. Wouldn't that be fun for you? Instead of listening to my stupid stories, you could say something to me for a change. Go for it, my friends in Spain and Finland! Readers in Japan and Mexico! Kalamazoo and Riverside! San Francisco! I think it's totally cool that you're out there, but I have no idea what you're like. So wow, click on the "Comments" leak and write something! Come on, people, I know you can do it.
Stewart, I'll reply to your message privately.
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