In which I’m feeling almost okay! Yay!

It’s payday. I just got a check! It’s not a lot, but it’s significantly more than the $2 I had this morning. (I wrote a rubber check for lunch, knowing it was payday.) I get off work in ten minutes, because I’m out of things to do for the week.

AmmZon’s out of town for the weekend so I have her house all to myself and I’m on catfood/bring-in-the-mail duty.

My blue dog seems to be flea-free for the first time since, oh, June or so. I need to dose Shiva and Stella and the cat… or get B. the cash to do it, if he hasn’t done it himself already.

I still don’t have a phone charger. I texted BoSe to see if I could charge my phone at his place again but he didn’t respond so I don’t know if he even got the message. I feel like a dick just showing up on his porch, all, “Hey, dude, can I come in your house and charge my phone?” *rolleyes*

Maybe now that I’ve got a bit of cash I’ll just pay the bill on and go back to my old phone. (See, all the phones are in my name, but Bread and BoSe are using the Indy phones for work and they’re paying the bill. It’s complicated.)

I’m still house/apartment hunting, because I promised him I’d get my shit out of there as soon as I possibly can. It’s slow going, but I hear there are units at the Broadway Building available and they take dogs.

Call me if you know where I can get boxes.

In which I take a moment to review myself.

Mush, I know you think you’ve got a good excuse for writing such lame content lately ’cause you’re a tad bit depressed, but COME ON! A breakup? That’s great shit! You should be totally inspired! You’re seperated, you’re couch surfing, and you’re, like, college-student broke. How can you not have anything to write about? Aren’t all the best albums break-up albums? Aren’t artists supposed to love the torture?

You glossed right over the sheep & fiber arts festival that NLW took you to last weekend, where you took a drop-spindle class and appeared to possess an innate talent for drafting.

You’ve left out the achingly sweet love and support of your friends, the messages and calls from your brother, the moments of transcendent gratitude. You’ve not said much at all about the ego-grinding process of loss and how you’re beginning to think it isn’t pain that brings one closer to God but gratitude.

You haven’t even touched the sleepless hours you’ve spent lying on AmmZon’s couch staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’re actually the biggest bitch in the world… before realizing that you’re not that special and you’re merely a runner-up. I mean, that’s some imagery there! Sleepless nights! The crickets and the breeze and the noise of being in town after five years in the country. Christ, girl, your posts totally suck compared to what you could be writing!

You haven’t gone into any of the great and gory details, either. You’ve allowed all kinds of angry, dick-slicingly pissed thoughts go without even writing them down or posting them on the Internet! If you’re going to break-up and blog, shouldn’t you be quoting him at his angriest and making him look like a total ogre? Where’s the acrimonious, polysyllabic ranting you used to be famous for?

All in all, I have to give you a C. I mean, it’s good that you’re posting, but damn you’re not doing shit with what you’ve got.

I have no idea why you get 10,000 hits a month, girl, I really don’t.

In which people are people, and we take the time we need.

Last night I worked until seven because J. breezed in at six and it turned out I’d entered some claims wrong and I needed to fix it. Then Bread called and I went over to see him at BoSe’s house.

He’d gotten paid and so gave me a little cash — YAY! — and I took Miss Bindu. Walked over to AmmZon’s and promptly stuck the blue dog right into the tub and washed her. AmmZon then walked up the street and came back fifteen minutes later with Frontline for her cat and my dog, and we poisoned ’em. Then we bopped over to Taco Bell for some drive-thru which we enjoyed on the living room floor.

I also did laundry and watched three episodes of That 70’s Show. All in all, an okay evening.

Bread doesn’t hate me, and I get to take more than a week to get out of there. He’s just bummed, as am I, and Lord knows I never say anything stupid when I’m mad at someone.

Long and short of it is we’re working through it.

In other news, staying on 2nd street rocks. You can get anything you want on 2nd street. Smokes, whiskey, Frontline, a social life, you name it. It’s awesome.

In which two consecutive nights in the bar are probably more than adequate.

I crashed on AmmZon’s couch last night. She says she’s staying home tonight and watching TV. I think that’s where I’ll be too: on AmmZon’s couch watching TV and not out getting hammered.

I’ve been drunk two nights in a row, and while anyone who tries to tell you that getting drunk doesn’t help is totally wrong, I think my liver needs a break.

I didn’t bring a charger when I threw my bag together Wednesday evening, and now my cell phone is dead. If you’re trying to call or text me and I’m ignoring you, that’s why.

In other news, I might be going to the 27th Annual World Sheep & Fiber Arts Festival this weekend with NLW.

Baa-aa-aaa-aa-ah.

“If evil were a lesser breed than justice, after all these years the righteous would have freed the world of sin. The house wins, the house always wins. You don’t have to be alone to be lonely, you might as well give in.”

– The House Wins, OK Go.

In which I’m in school and remembering school.

I’m taking a basic adjusting class this week. During yesterday’s class, I learned a single thing: the definition of the word subrogation.

You may feel that learning a single word should take far less than six hours… I know I certainly do. *bangs head on desk* In other words, this class is teaching me nothing.

Today I have not yet learned anything. I’m taking this class not because I need the training per se, but because in order to do claims for WG I have to have taken it.

The software class was much more fun because it was hands-on; one of the instructors was really sharp; and I’m a geek. In contrast, this is a lecture class… all PowerPoint slides and hand-outs and reading aloud. I feel like I’m in high school taking personal finance all over again.

Speaking of high school, my best friend from those days — and with whom I have not communicated since, oh, 1989 or so — left a comment on yesterday’s post. How freakin’ cool is that? I emailed her immediately. It’ll be neat to catch up with her.

In other news, my aunt and uncle dropped by Sunday, sat and chatted with me for a few hours, and then left again. It was lovely.

In which two people I haven’t seen in at least five years are going to drop by.

Six years ago, my grandfather was dying in the hospital. My mom called and said I needed to go out to Walla Walla and see him one last time. She offered to fly my boyfriend out, too.

So Bread and I rushed to the airport and flew to the west coast, where he was absolutely inundated with my family. They loved him. He loved them. He fit right in.

We got to see grandpa. The next night he died. The night before we left to come back to Iowa, Bread proposed.

That was the last time I saw my uncle Gale.

The following May, we got married and my aunt Kathy came to the wedding and stayed here at the house. That was the last time I saw my aunt Kathy.

This is a brief picture of my aunt Kathy:

Way back when my folks were still married, we were all at the Hall’s for some holiday. Kathy, who works with retarded and autistic people, told a joke with the word ‘retard’ in it. My dad said, “‘Developmentally disabled,’ Kathy, you can’t say ‘retarded’ any more; it’s not PC.”

She cackled and said, “Please. They are retards! They use the word ‘retard’ themselves! They know they’re retarded.”

Kathy’s way cool.

And today they’ll be dropping by! I have no idea what they’re even doing all the way out here, but it’ll be totally exciting to see some relatives! Bread’s out to lunch with his mom, but I imagine they’ll be here soonish. I’d better go tidy up. The house is a stone cold mess, but at least it can be an organized mess.