Day one: Fuck you. Yes, you. And your little friend and your boss, your husband, your Aunt Sophie, your pharmacist, your mechanic and your cats. Fuck off. But before you do, bring me a milkshake. Thank you. Now fuck off.
Day two: Tired. So tired. So very, very tired. Why don't they allow naps at work? Please stop talking to me, for I am so ver..zzzzzzzzzzzzzz......
Day three: *sob*
Day four: Let's clean the bathrooms! And do the laundry! And sweep! And organize the books by author/subject/color!! Wheeeeeeee!! It's only 1AM, I have plenty of time to regrout the tubs before work tomorrow!! Whoooo!!
Day five: Sex. NOW.
Day six: Goddammit. I hate being a woman sometimes.
This is what my husband has patiently dealt with this week. If any man ever deserved beer and chocolate, it would be Jef.
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We've been watching a ridiculous amount of HGTV lately. We have PLANS. That involve the FUTURE. That we BOTH AGREE ON. It's a brave new world, my friends.
I hate comparing Jef to the ex because, well, y'know...they're two different people. But sometimes it's hard to sit here, with this person to whom I can say the most (in my opinion) off the wall, weird things and find out that he's thinking the same thing or thinks I've just said the most brilliant thing ever, and not remember a time when I was afraid to give ideas or opinions about anything. A time when I figured anything out of my face would be wrong, wrong, wrong, so why bother? Life with Jef has been such a change from that, that it's still sometimes hard not to compare.
I look forward to it being old hat for me to express an opinion, any opinion and it being heard and valued and not immediately dismissed. But for right now, I'll admit, I'm kind of wallowing in the novelty.
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Harold, the cat of the sixteen stitches, has his stitches out and his attractive blue collar off and is out of our room. Of course, Harold has the memory of a goldfish and is completely freaked out by the presence of other cats. So he's sitting at the end of the hall, totally losing his shit. All of the other cats are looking at him and then looking at us, all "what the fuck is up his ass?" We don't know, fuzzy buddies, we don't know.
I really, really wish I had the stuff to record and embed and audio file of Harold in the middle of a big stripey shit fit, because it is the funniest thing in the world. Ok, try this. Yes, even if you're at work - trust me, it's so stupid sounding, it might score you a day off. You ready? Make a cat hissing noise, but when you inhale to continue the hiss, make a pig snort noise.
Got it? hhhhhsssssssssssss, *snort*, hhhhhsssssssssss, *snort*. Right now, at the end of my hall, there's 14 pounds of angry, stripey, bald assed cat making that very noise. I love my life, man.
We have frozen margaritas in the kitchen and my glass is empty. Y'all behave.
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