It is 8:29 p.m. and I have just finished working. Which means technically I worked a 12-and-a-half-hour day. Well, a 12-hour and 29-minute day. But it's not so bad. I got done with my regularly scheduled job–which doesn't it seem like my last day is taking forever to get here?–and came home and did some freelance work, which I have been doing lately to prepare for my new life. Of freelancing.
Do you know who is excited that I will be freelancing again?
The years I proofread at home, I always proofed in this chair, and Francis always sat on me like this. When I returned to the real work world, it was weird working without trying to navigate around a huge purring creature. And I know you can't tell, but that is as happy as Francis gets, over there.
It's like an otter is sitting on me, isn't it?
After Marvin took this picture of the scene that brought us back to circa 2002-2006, he left the camera next to me. I have not told you guys this, but remember last weekend when you said that picture I took of Tallulah was really good?
Well, this picture was taken with my NEW CAMERA, which I bought before I quit my job in a huff.
Oh, it wasn't THAT expensive. I bought it used from a guy at work. At any rate, it has an automatic setting, but then it has fancy settings, too, and tonight I tried to play with them when I really should have been doing my proofreading, and hello faithful reader who sent me the proofreading job in the first place. I swear right after this I got right on your stuff.
Okay, way too close to Henry, who is acting pretty big for his nonexistent britches, if you ask me.
How cute would this have been if I knew HOW TO FOCUS? Tallulah was distraught that Francis was on me, and she knew if she wanted to keep snouted she could not even THINK of getting on the chair with us.
So, remember how bad my shots were when I had a simple camera? Yeah. Maybe this was a bad idea.
But soon I will have all the time in the world in which to learn about my new camera. And you can expect BRILLIANT pictures of me wearing a barrel.
In other news, I am going back to Michigan this weekend and I am just delighted that everyone will see I got fat post-Topamax. However, the last 12 times I have talked to my mother she is cramming Halloween candy down her gullet at a breakneck pace, so I may not be alone in my Rubenesque look. "Uoi, uney, aow are ouuu?" she'll say, through her Good-n-Plenty.
I am going back to bug my Uncle Jim again, who probably thinks the worst part about cancer was having to see my shiny forehead eight times in one year. He is still in remission, by the way, and his platelets are up, which is always good. My plates are up, too, in the cupboard. I guess doctors like that sort of thing.
Also, my cousins are having a Halloween bash, and my pal Gertrude and I are going, and now my mother said (we had a Snickers interpreter tell us this) that she wants to go, too. So my mother and I came up with the inspired idea that we are going to dress up as each other. We cannot get enough of ourselves.
So here's where we need your help. Obviously mom will be getting a blonde fright wig. That goes without saying. But what else can she be holding to emulate me? I thought of a red pen. And junk food. What else?
All I have to do to be mom is stuff my brassierial area and wear 3957530234740324 political buttons and I'm all set. Then I get to look over at mom disapprovingly several times during the night. "June, don't you think you're drinking too much?" "June, you're so crude, honey. No one wants to see your bra on your head."
Oh! That's IT! Mom has GOT to tie a bra to her head. I am sorry to tell you that that is kind of my signature move at a party. No, I DON'T know why I didn't get that invitation to dine with the queen.
Okay, more how-mom-can-dress-up-as-June suggestions, please.