I cannot concentrate on anything! People keep coming in to talk about the girl that quit in this department this week, but I would rather not talk about it. Let's talk about GLOBAL CONFLICT, not some dame that was only here for 8 hours. I get breaking news alerts in my e-mail and most of them don't even get a reaction out of me. I just repeat them to my office darlings who get upset for me. I feel like a ZOMBIE.
Will this weekend live up to last weekend? What of the weekends to come? Will there be mechanical bulls and dancing to Billy Idol, teaching people to slam dance during Charlie Daniels? I think I might have tried to dance to a disco song, too, but ended up backing into a table in time to see some big-titty girl talking to my boyfriend. If I was a lesser person, I'd get all huffy, but I bought him a Bushmills instead.
Love is a weird thing. I feel fuzzy watching sea otters holding hands, I feel fierce on slighted words, I feel like being as great as he makes me feel. It's like drinking gross apple-flavored rum on Tuesday nights watching Jackass. It's like waiting, waiting, waiting for the next great time, they never run out.
I'm blessed with little creatures. It's not a disease, it's a lifestyle. Little Hughie running on his wheel and slurp slurp slurping his water, Rufus trying fifty times to jump onto the bed because his legs aren't long enough to transport him, Abby dancing around the living room with her flappy paws, and little Bo leaning, acting like he needs to be next to me to even sit up straight. There's Squid Vicious, too, but he just swims around with his aggro fin hanging out.
Back to my day, of anal snivling and looking forward to tonight, where everything becomes all right. To sunny days at the beach or on the street at home, I expect nothing less of excellence in the refreshment of the weekend.
