I found it!
They don't even have word on this computer. Just notepad.
I'm getting better at typing on standard keyboards now, though I still mess up I can tell when I mess up almost as I'm doing it, so I correct it. It slows down the process, but it's also totally worth it because I can now type up things at work and print them off, take them home and scan them in as text. Yay!
Zoriah isn't here, which is why I'm discovering this now. I'm still pre fedex delivery, so I have a little time on my hands for maybe the next 20 minutes or so. It's a bit sad, really, I have no idea what needs doing besides basic sample entry
Oh yeah, the whole day w/out Zoriah, and I logged everything in, and I didn't fuck up at all!
With a big thanks to Katherine, here is part one of today's story.
*she looked around the room quickly one more time before rushing out*
It was a very rainy day when I found your cat under my car. It being dead didn't bother me so much as the fact that I would have to tell you "I ran over your cat". I think it was under there because of the rain, maybe asleep, I don't know; it was old, so could have managed to not notice the car turning on. I knew you loved the little beast dearly, and I decided that this was in in-person errand, not a phone call or an e-mail.
I blew off work for the next half hour and trudged up the street to your apartment building. It was still raining, and the wet was starting to get into my clothes. The cat was soaked, too, but I still wasn't bothered by that. We, the dead cat and I, arrived at your red door with the little peep-hole that's nearly useless if someone really wants to get in. You had added an extra lock on the inside since I was last here. That's just the kind of thing I notice when I'm remembering.
When your door opened I met your new girlfriend who was half-clothed and wearing an apron with forget-me-not-blue daisies on it. She seemed sweet enough, if a bit of an exhibitionist. I shouldn't talk, what with my utter body shyness. She said you were in the shower, and would I like to wait and perhaps have some orange juice. I declined the drink because I was getting more nauseas the longer I was in your place, but I sat quietly, clutching your cat and hoping you wouldn't hate me for this mistake too. It really was an accident. I was trying to subvocalize my lines so I could get it all out when you were done showering.
When I said your girlfriend was an exhibitionist, I didn't mention that it suited you perfectly. You were the glorious body that not only was willing to spend time on a nude beach, but was the reason nude men, and a few women, came to relax in those unique places. Nude beaches come to mind because you walked out of the bedroom with only the towel you were using to dry your hair; I had never convinced you to buy a hair drier, before, during, or after the times we dated. You had a new hair color, too, matching the color of the new lock on the door. It also didn't clash with the furniture, the towel, the table, the rug, the linoleum, or the bedspread I could see through the door to the bedroom. The rest of the world treasures your sense of beauty, but you never thought about it because it was as utterly natural as hands and feet. Also parts of the body that were beautiful on you.
You noticed me and grinned, but continued to towel off rather than be modest. Passing through the kitchen for a cup of orange juice, you also snatched a kiss; I thought I had defeated envy, but I felt a little pang and struggled to silence it. Finally you wrapped the towel around yourself and sat with me at the table. The plan I had come to was to explain first and show the cat, or not show the cat, later. Your annoying habit of not talking and looking expectant instead was, once again, effective. I talked, fast, slow, sideways, backwards, but mostly in a tone and with a demeanor that said "please, please, please don't interrupt me, for the love of god, just don't". I was done and you were staring at the bag. I felt heavy, like the world had gone by all at once and I had to make up for the sleep I was missing. But above all that, and covering it like gooey ichor, I felt scared, not bodily scared but emotionally. It's cliche to say you've hurt me before, but you have.
I'm getting better at typing on standard keyboards now, though I still mess up I can tell when I mess up almost as I'm doing it, so I correct it. It slows down the process, but it's also totally worth it because I can now type up things at work and print them off, take them home and scan them in as text. Yay!
Zoriah isn't here, which is why I'm discovering this now. I'm still pre fedex delivery, so I have a little time on my hands for maybe the next 20 minutes or so. It's a bit sad, really, I have no idea what needs doing besides basic sample entry
Oh yeah, the whole day w/out Zoriah, and I logged everything in, and I didn't fuck up at all!
With a big thanks to Katherine, here is part one of today's story.
*she looked around the room quickly one more time before rushing out*
It was a very rainy day when I found your cat under my car. It being dead didn't bother me so much as the fact that I would have to tell you "I ran over your cat". I think it was under there because of the rain, maybe asleep, I don't know; it was old, so could have managed to not notice the car turning on. I knew you loved the little beast dearly, and I decided that this was in in-person errand, not a phone call or an e-mail.
I blew off work for the next half hour and trudged up the street to your apartment building. It was still raining, and the wet was starting to get into my clothes. The cat was soaked, too, but I still wasn't bothered by that. We, the dead cat and I, arrived at your red door with the little peep-hole that's nearly useless if someone really wants to get in. You had added an extra lock on the inside since I was last here. That's just the kind of thing I notice when I'm remembering.
When your door opened I met your new girlfriend who was half-clothed and wearing an apron with forget-me-not-blue daisies on it. She seemed sweet enough, if a bit of an exhibitionist. I shouldn't talk, what with my utter body shyness. She said you were in the shower, and would I like to wait and perhaps have some orange juice. I declined the drink because I was getting more nauseas the longer I was in your place, but I sat quietly, clutching your cat and hoping you wouldn't hate me for this mistake too. It really was an accident. I was trying to subvocalize my lines so I could get it all out when you were done showering.
When I said your girlfriend was an exhibitionist, I didn't mention that it suited you perfectly. You were the glorious body that not only was willing to spend time on a nude beach, but was the reason nude men, and a few women, came to relax in those unique places. Nude beaches come to mind because you walked out of the bedroom with only the towel you were using to dry your hair; I had never convinced you to buy a hair drier, before, during, or after the times we dated. You had a new hair color, too, matching the color of the new lock on the door. It also didn't clash with the furniture, the towel, the table, the rug, the linoleum, or the bedspread I could see through the door to the bedroom. The rest of the world treasures your sense of beauty, but you never thought about it because it was as utterly natural as hands and feet. Also parts of the body that were beautiful on you.
You noticed me and grinned, but continued to towel off rather than be modest. Passing through the kitchen for a cup of orange juice, you also snatched a kiss; I thought I had defeated envy, but I felt a little pang and struggled to silence it. Finally you wrapped the towel around yourself and sat with me at the table. The plan I had come to was to explain first and show the cat, or not show the cat, later. Your annoying habit of not talking and looking expectant instead was, once again, effective. I talked, fast, slow, sideways, backwards, but mostly in a tone and with a demeanor that said "please, please, please don't interrupt me, for the love of god, just don't". I was done and you were staring at the bag. I felt heavy, like the world had gone by all at once and I had to make up for the sleep I was missing. But above all that, and covering it like gooey ichor, I felt scared, not bodily scared but emotionally. It's cliche to say you've hurt me before, but you have.