If my disposition does not improve I am certain to end up as a spinster, surrounded by my many cats, running up extortionate phone bills calling anyone and everyone just to gain contact with the outside world.
I will end up being found weeks after my death burried under huge collections of train tickets to the coast and surrounded by ash trays. Being nawred by the cats. Note in hand thanking those who had helped me get that far..
I hope someone comes along soon that will make me prove this wrong.
Not to sound like a gay, but this was how I felt until about a year ago. I was pretty much resigned to becoming the crazy cat lady from the Simpsons (I mean, she was a single lawyer lady who went crazy… it all fit). What I mean to say is, someone will come along soon that will prove the above situation wrong.
Today at work some guy said something about Michael Jackson and I was caught completely off guard. “Michael Jackson?”
“Yeah, did you hear he’s dead? Farrah Fawcett too”.
I realise you all knew this, but shit’s weird. Like when Mr Irwin died the night before QCS and all of our teachers launched into “console the students” mode.
Gassed us all.
Maybe tomorrow, then?
Waking up at a decent hour is so wonderful. This morning everything was covered in fog and dew and I’ve done about an hour of walking through the suburbs around my house. I had a sour cherry crumble tartlet for breakfast from a family owned-and-operated deli after searching for a churrera. Then I picked some dew-covered French lavender from somebody’s front gardent and a few figs from somebody else’s.
Today is going to be a good day!