I am still sick. I know, man. This it it. Elizabeth, I'm coming to join you, honey. I'm going to the doctor at 4:00. IF I MAKE IT THAT LONG.
In the meantime, a Realtor, and yes that really is a proper noun, is coming at noon to see what my house is worth. I'm hoping $800,000. Dream big. Last night, feeling precisely poopy, I came home and flopped exhaustedly on the couch when I realized this place looked like hell.
So I tidied. Yes, despite being very seriously ill.
You can see Edsel was a big help.
That box on the table is cause a faithful reader sent me retro makeup and candy–thanks, FR! I don't want to say her real name, cause I don't know if she uses that as her screen name, and that's always a thing. I don't want to ruin anyone's life, so we'll just call her a faithful reader in case she's an underworld spy or the wife of a close friend.
Wife of a close friend.
It's not a table unless a cat is on it. I have four people coming for dinner this weekend who are all like, "Yeah, great" right now.
I don't know if I told you my dishwasher broke, and guess what else I should have had Alf the handyman fix? Dang.
I see I still have to wash the cupboard doors, there. Honey and lemon juice from a goddamn piece of salmon the size of a Munchkin's dick. That's what spilled there.
Pile of crap, now with with cat tail!
Son of a–you guys. I just heard a ruckus outside. I know what that ruckus is. Guess who was on the roof?
As soon as I went out there, he jumped down, and yet refuses to come inside. He just stares at me rebelliously, proudly stomping about, and runs away when I approach him. Asshole. HOW DID HE GET OUT??
I know this LOOKS like a request to go in, but really he just wants to balance on the screen like he does. Show off his skillz.
See? That's all he wanted. He won't come in. This cat is a bigger asshole than Lottie was. Why does God abhor me so? I'm a good per–okay, that's why God abhors me so.
It was Lottie who tore this screen on, like, day one. See above ref to God's abhorrence.
Anyway, so now the place is tidy-ish and I will alert you forthwith re if I am going to sell my cute house, which I really don't want to do.
Oh, also, they're moving my workspace. "Seems like June has told us that before," readers are thinking, sipping their espresso and vodka. Yes, it's true. I haven't worked there six years yet and this will be my 10th move. The exciting news is I'm movin' on up. I've spent lo these many years in what they call the Garden Level, which is a delightful euphemism for The Basement. We have been visited by black widows, and I don't mean Coretta Scott King, snakes, mice and also a lack of windows.
I strolled up to my new spot yesterday and…windows!!! I have a window now! Now I gotta obsess about where Ima park. It'll be a whole new world. Also? Closer to the vending machines. Score!
All right, I'd better go. I look forward to conversing with you later, and for the more hysterical of you to worry about Steely Dick Dan, who is clearly magic and we all just need to accept it.