It's a way to avoid the State of the World Today. Whose justice? And that's all I'm going to say.
I'm still working my way through mimi smartypants, I'm slow, but I get there. In the End.
Found: a pair of glasses lost for eight years. Next time something goes missing, I'm looking on top of the buffet and hutch. How they got up there eight years ago...I can take a guess. I think husbandly put them up there so they'd be "safe". Chances are he was changing the light, same as this time; he just forgot. Oh well. My old prescription was crappy anyway. I must have been drugged when I went in for them. The strength is about twice that of the glasses I currently wear. If I feel like getting drunk, but can't for whatever reason, I'm pulling out the old glasses and watching the world go lurching by. I may throw up, but the head spins might be worth it.
Probably not, but it seems a working theory until I'm tired or crazy enough to try it.
Now I'm off my shifts for a while I've spent a leisurely couple of days sleeping. Although yesterday morning I hauled myself up to go to an antibody breakfast club meeting. For non-blood bankers, that is an amazing collection of nouns in the one spot.
On my way out yesterday morning I got stared down by Fluffy the cat from across the road. For all her one eye-ness, my cat is the doyenne of the cat milieu around here - nearly every cat in the street comes to visit*. It couldn't be because she leaves food if she doesn't like it - meaning it isn't chicken breast or fillet steak. Fluffy (probably not her real name) is something of a madam, cat bell notwithstanding. After staring me down (not that I was staring back, I can cope with not dominating a cat, thanks), I got the flick of the (fluffy) tail and a view of her arse. Lovely. The anus as an expression of disdain.
*including the cat we managed to catch in our possum trap. After Cass, the mad prophetess no-one listens to (yes, that's our cat), lost her eye, we were bound and determined to catch the booger who attacked her. Cue patient baiting of possum trap and capture of one beautiful black cat. When it comes right down to it, though, neither one of us can bring ourselves to either a) wring it's neck (and husbandly could, he used to kill rabbits for the pot) or b) take it to a vet to be necked. Dang. We decide to let it go, but a long way from us. Irresponsible? You bet, let us add to the feral cat problem.
Husbandly takes the cat on a drive and lets it go in a park. As soon as he opens the cage, out shoots Blacky, only to pause twenty feet away. The thought processes were obvious - no, wait, I don't know where I am - and the Blackster looks back at husbandly, looks relieved - hey, I know him! - and starts running back toward the car. Then pauses - hang on, he's the one who put me in a cage - and that was the last we saw of Blacky.
Before the hate mail starts (because anyone who knows cats knows this one was obviously an owned cat and not the bastard tom who attacked our Cass), Blackster showed up about six weeks later, calmly sitting on our verandah; having just eaten Cass' dinner and relaxing before the off.
Last night I wound up flicking from one lot of bad tv to the next - and couldn't be arsed getting up to either put on a DVD or plug the iPad in. I caught Mary J.
Having said that, I found it hard to tear my eyes away - the horror, the horror - like watching a crash in slow motion.
The sonic screwdriver (season 5 version) has arrived for the small lad's birthday and it is AWESOME!! I want one! I want to take it to work and point It at alarms when they go off! Because that oxygen depletion alarm is coming off the wall if it keeps up, I'm warning you, inanimate collection of circuits designed to keep us all breathing! This is your last chance! I love rational anger, don't you?
The Yellow Pages ad with the singing bobble-headed man creeps me out. I'd link it but the internet doesn't have everything.
