When PJ passed my my Friday coffee this morning it was half Irish cream. I said nothing save for thank you and I'm sure no one else noticed. I love this man, truly I do. It's Friday, after all and I'm hoping for a weekend with endless pizza and maybe a screening of The Revenant. I'm hoping to sleep in. I'm hoping for a little less rain and a little more sunshine and I'm hoping for a little peace and quiet the likes of which we haven't seen in several weeks running.
The pot light is ticking like there's a grasshopper stuck in it. It will burn out within days. The dishwasher sprung it's springs and has been fixed. The rain turns everything to mush and the darkness is pushing away from five o'clock like a little kid on a swing. Yesterday I saw tulips busting up out of the ground in a neighbor's garden and I have all of our tax receipts out and organized by hard-sided folios, one for each, including Ruth, who now has to file taxes because she's got a job too.
I need a job.
I also saw that Sephora Canada now sells Anastasia makeup-makeup and not just the eyebrow stuff so I really need a job though I have a drawer full of lip products and a definitive problem already that precludes me buying any more until I use up some of what I have.
Sam is being a prince of a guy to take up the case of me finally again now that the dust has settled between him and Matt. Barring their emotions they have remained friends, even going out for lunch together yesterday so Sam could give Matt some photos he wanted him to have. Argh. If only the rest of us were so civilized but we aren't. We're heathens. We're feral. We're lurking in the woods, dirty and damp to chew on the first person to cross our paths and we hardly listen to reason most days.
Bear with me while I try and find a way around or maybe through the fog. As usual I'll do my best. As usual, you prefer me at my worst.