I couldn't think of anything to write about today, because here was my day yesterday:
Work, go to vending machine, work, see what's new at vending machine.
Honestly. I eat right. Take care of myself. Why can't I shed the pounds?
Then after a nutritious dinner of popcorn, I went went to bed and HELLO MIDNIGHT NAUSEA.
Does that ever happen to you? You wake up totally nauz in the middle of the night? I hate that. It's always more jarring when you wake up with it. Not that I put whatever flew out of me in a jar.
So I have the personality of a mop this morning, as opposed to my usual sparkling interesting personality that is clearly so enticing, hence the part where I've been whisked off by a millionaire with a mansion and a yacht.
I just tried to show you that cartoon of Elmer Fudd saying he had "a mansion und a yacht" but guess what. GUESS WHAT. It crashed my effing computer.
Ny point is, 80 paragraphs later, since I had nothing to tell you, and look who can drone on when she has nothing to say? Who can take a nothing day and certainly make it all seem worthwhile? I decided to delve into my 900 thousand photos, that I really should organize one day, and pick the 17th one.
Crap. He is in the backyard, enjoying my highly manicured, not-at-all-ruined-by-dogs grass. Seconds later Edsel chased him up a tree and I thought I got a picture of that, but once I put the card thing (official name) in the computer, the photo wasn't there. Because this is how my life works.
You know what might help? Is if I read the manual for my new camera to figure out, you know, when I am actually taking pictures and when I'm not.
…And in further proof that I remain God's least-favorite person, I just went back out there to see if I could get another Roger picture. He had been so cute being treed by Edsel. Maybe I could get another cute photo of him. And by the way, he will leap right on Edsel's head, claws out, so don't feel sorry for him. Don't ever feel sorry for Roger about anything. I think he could take care of all of us, if the shit went down.
On my search for a good Roger moment, I saw…
And Roger? Nowhere to be found. Nowhere! Then I heard fighting in the yard next door. Not people. But "Rrrrrraaaaaaaaaaarrrr!" in a cat fighty way, and I said oh, no. Roger likes to squeeze under the fence and hang on Peg's deck, which I always assumed was sort of safe because she has a giant fence, too. But what if some other cat was over there?
"Roger!" I called.
And he jumped out of the tree right above me.