I really, really, really wish my cat were a lolzcat.
She needs a hobby. Bad. And I’m finding it difficult to accomplish anything with her half draped across me at any given moment.
She’s even begun invading the bathroom in a draped-across sort of way. I find myself looking at her big-cat eyes and thinking, “She’d be a star in ‘Children of the Corn’ if she were human.”
She’s staring. And she’s purring. And she’s drooling.
And I wish she had a hobby.
Not as footsteps-y feeling as the last one, but I like it far better.
Plus, I actually took the picture.
And I get so mushy when I watch the sunrise.
So I had my first chocolate in a month at about 12:04 this morning.
For the record, I didn’t stay up til 12:04 specifically for the chocolate. Although, had I stayed up just for the chocolate, I’d have been massively disappointed.
I’ve been working with abstinence a lot since January. It’s a “Program,” principle but, more importantly, it’s a spiritual principle. It’s about letting go of things I once held so important (“Oh, I can’t live without that!”) and rearranging a life that is more healthy and connected to God.
And it’s just in time for the Baha’i Fast, which begins tomorrow. Considering how amazing it was last year, I am so very, very looking forward to it again.
But enough with spirituality; back to chocolate.
The header isn’t doing what I want it to do. It almost hurts to look at.
I’ll deal with it later.
I have an MP3 player. I think I’ve officially landed in the 21st century.
Now to try to figure out how to use it before I pass out.
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Now playing: Ella Fitzgerald – Cry Me a River
via FoxyTunes
So I just made it a month completely and utterly smoke free, and I am now on a mission.
Acutely aware of how everything smells, I am interested in finding a perfume that just says me, in a whispering tone, preferably. My mother has all of these little sprays with cute names like “Ocean Breath” and “Summer Love.”
The one I came across was “Seduction.” It’s one of those after-shower sprays or some such nonsense.
I swear, it could not have smelled any more like a half-empty and over-sugared pitcher of Tropical Punch Kool-Aid.
I’m trying to figure out who on earth might possibly find this stuff seductive other than a six year old in Vacation Bible School at cookie time.
I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.
My cute little harlequin avatar disappeared.
Strange, that.
Was over at the folks’, eating dinner and getting ready for work.
I come back to find a text message. This isn’t particularly weird, only that a) It says it was sent from my own phone and b) The message was: Call your significant other.
c) Er. Who?
Someone called from a number but didn’t leave a message around the same time. Groovy. I’ll give them a call back and see who’s laughing on the other end.
It’s not a working number. I did a reverse look up, and nothing came up.
Oh, wait. It’s a full moon isn’t it?
I bet it’s Richard Morris. I knew he’d eventually find me.
I’m in a weird position, torn between wanting to see a friend, comfort her maybe, just be with her certainly, gauge how she’s doing, and being seriously afraid of her sister.
I’m talking restraining-order afraid.
“But it’s all good! She wants to apologize, that’s what sisters do. We’re all sisters. You should come to lunch with us.”
Now, I’d like to think I’m a forgiving kind of gal, but I’m still struggling with the notion of being able to accept a face-to-face apology from the woman who tried to break in a door to get to me.
Since recurring depression is something I myself struggle with, I try to be as understanding as I can of others. It’s a matter of wiring, it’s a matter of bits and pieces of brain matter being scrambled around, synaspes and neurons not firing, whatever.
But there is illness, and then there’s illness.
And then there is a paranoid schizophrenic who refuses to be medicated.
So I’m stuck. Haven’t seen my friend in weeks. Certainly haven’t seen her since her husband died.
They’re shopping, doing Black Friday as grief therapy. I can dig that.
But I can’t do lunch. So I’m blogging rather than sleeping, rather than writing a paper.
Rather than eating lunch.
I got a call from Best Buy and spent the night at work feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve. Today, I was getting a new lap top.
Apparently, in addition to my myriad of talents, one particularly shining one is killing lap tops. The above notes are direct quotations from their work order for my lap top. At least if it was dirty, it was sweet-smelling too.
There are several bits of good news with this. Because mine was a close out deal, (meaning, it was so bad that they had actually discontinued making it), I was able to pick out another for the same price, or I could upgrade and pay the difference. For about $20 more than I paid last year, I got 4x the RAM, and almost 4 X the hard drive space. Neat-o. Because it’s a new lap top, protected by all of the protections a new lap top affords, I was able to buy a new accident pro0tection plan.
Hopefully I won’t need it, and I’ve learned my lesson. But if not, I have protection.
I’ve also learned the lesson of backing up my stuff. I’m a slow learner sometimes; this was a lesson that took two laptops and two PC’s (in my defense, I killed neither one of those) to learn.
Of course, there is this whole Vista thing which I’m not digging on too hard.
But it *is* six days till Tool, and 25 weeks and 5 days till finals are over.
At least I have ‘net back, and don’t feel so entirely disconnected. As a bonus, I can do papers at home.
But I’m still wondering what they got an eye-ful of in my documents folder.
Lyrical Fool 