So I prefer Blogger to Facebook--just so you know. I got on Facebook this morning (first time in a month), and I had no clue what to do with myself. I had a few friend requests, so I accepted them. I found a few new friends, so I requested them. Other than that, what do I do? I can't just write on people's walls; they'll think I'm weird! If you can't tell by that last statement, I'm no initiator. People have walls for a reason: you write on them. And I only accept Facebook friends that I really like, so there shouldn't be any reason why you'd think I'm weird. One of these days, I'll get over my ridiculous cyber anxieties, and we'll have lively conversation.
So I was late to work to day. We're not talking slap-on-the-wrists late. This is boot-you-rear-out-the-door late. As a senior operator, I was supposed to open the office this morning at 6am. I woke up at 7:30am. Lovely. I can't decide whether I'm more overcome with fear for the repercussions this will have on my employment, or if I'm more put out because I didn't get to shower before work.
Since getting tattoos, I like to wax my arms so that the tattoos look better. I haven't waxed them in a month, and now I look like this:
It's no wonder I haven't waxed them in a month. It's too hard to wax anything yourself, unless you can go like this:
I'm grateful to a lot of people for feeling like a burning monk (see last post), being accused of laziness, and telling me about it. Everyone's life sucks in some way, and I'm glad that some people can talk to me about their personal hells without feeling like their struggle is less or more important than the next guy's.
That little boy cannot take a drink without sticking his whole face in the water bucket. He comes out sopping wet everytime. He's always loved being wet. When I first brought him home as a 9 week old puppy, I shut off the sprinkler system so that he would get wet at night. Then, I thought to myself that he has to learn for himself to stay dry. But he never learned, and he never cared. I would come out every morning to feed and hug my boy, and his fur would be matted together from the moisture. He'd just sleep right through the sprinkler cycle right in the middle of the yard. And that one, horrible night that I spent at the old apartment, I took him out to use the bathroom in the morning, and the sprinklers were on. He just walked right through all of them, sniffing around, looking at everything. Pistol loves a good mud pile... he's such a pill. The only water he hasn't loved is bathtime, and this:
I decided that this post needed to have some kind of positive material, owing to the last post. So, I'm glad I could write about Pistol. There's no brighter spot in my life than that little boy.