June Prissys her freelance. Also, am I your secret?

I just noticed how much Edsel anticipates my every move in the morning. First he tears down the hall ahead of me to the bathroom, which by the way is the size of a closet, but yet he must stuff his yellow arse in there with me each morning. And to think there used to be TWO dogs with the stuffing and the yellow arses in that miniature Pomeranian bathroom. How we managed that I’ll never know.

After the clown-car everyone’s-crammed-in-the-bathroom experience (Steely Dan never misses an opportunity to jump on my lap whilst I’m toileting), today I noted Edsel then tears farther down the hall into the living room, where he waits for me to open the curtains. Then to the kitchen and dining room, where he enviously watches me feed the cats.

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So mutch enbee

Then finally, FINALLY, we get to the part where I feed him, and let him out, and really you’d think he’d eventually say, Oh Edzul god, every day be the same. That’d he’d have some sort of crisis of ennui. But no.

Speaking of Edsel, he was one of the many–many–ways I managed to put off starting my new freelance project yesterday.

I got home early yesterday, meaning I left work right at 5:00, something I never do. “Good, I can get started right away and be free by 7:30,” I thought.

Oh, but first I must eat, right? I mean, one cannot live on proofreading alone. So I enjoyed my delicious 7 points.

IMG_9489.JPGIMG_9490.JPGThen of course Woof Blitzer had to start up. It’s highly offensive to him that other people walk their dogs past our house. How dayre dey? Then when HE walks past OTHER dogs’ houses, and THOSE dogs bark, Edsel always kind of glances back at them, like, he rully do be a ass whole, completely forgetting he does the SAME THING ALL DAY LONG with the hackles and the O face.

Can you see how his lips are in his growly O? Fogging up that part of the window.

Edsel, SHUT UP.

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…Oh. Sorree.

So then I put on my shoes to go walk him, which by the way is another thing he anticipates. As soon as shoes go on at night, he prances about the house, and whines, and dances, and posts cheerful emojis to his social pages, and so on.

Then we ended up taking the world’s longest walk, as it was cool out, and August in the South/cool out are not things you find yourself saying just all the time. So we enjoyed the 394854438292 cicadas and the pink sky and the bats o’plenty. We waved at other dog owners, and by “waved” I mean one of us lunged and snarled and got out torches while others of us pulled desperately on a leash. We took new roads and old familiar ones. We pooped in yards and bagged it up like it was a treat.

Then, when we got home, it was crucial that I check my social media.

Actually, here’s what annoys me. Is this just me and my high levels of extreme fame, or is it you as well? You, the common people. Do tell me, so I can remember what it’s like to live as one of you.

When you take, say, ONE HOUR off of Facebook, do you inevitably have at least 20 notices already? Dear Facebook: I don’t need separate notices if one person liked what I said, and another person laughy-faced what I said. Why would I need that? Combine those motherfuckers. Jesus.

I generally skip over all notices except for actual comments. It’s just all too much, Facebook. And for the love of GOD will everyone stop Facebook IMing me. Because I need one more place to look.read.respond.

Anyway, after all that, I needed a snack (4 points) and then I thought, Well, I should probably start proofreading that book.

It was nearly 8 o’clock. I WAS GONNA BE DONE BY 7:30. This me who thinks I’ll ever not put off a task is the same me who says, Ima get up for that 6 a.m. yoga class at my gym. I tell myself that all the time. Then I go back to looking for snacks and sleeping in.

Anyway, that is how I ended up working till after 9:30, but I got to, like, page 9, which may not sound like much to you but it really is when you’re proofreading something like that.

I’d better get in the shower and so on, but I wanted to ask you something,

How does my blog affect your life? I don’t mean oh my god it’s worked miracles and I cured your irritable bowel. I just mean, like, if you’re someone who reads all the time, do your friends know? Do you tell your husband, “Oh, you know what happened in Book of June’s comments today…” and then does your husband as a result hate me?

Because I was forever regaling Ned with “readers of my blog” stories back when there was a blog and a Ned. And then I identify you. My funny reader, the reader who’s always sweet to everyone, the reader who I get hives when I see she’s commented because I know it’s gonna be a veiled bitchy comment. The reader who’s read me forever. The reader who I got in that fight with. And then, finally, Fay.

Ned and Fay. Two great tastes that go great together. Two besties. For two people who’ve never met, they sure get on wonderfully.

Man.

Anyway, a few times a year people write me or FUCKING FACEBOOK IM ME about how they read posts to their spouses or whatever, but it occurred to me I never just asked all of you at once if my blog is your secret or something you torment the non-readers in your life over.

Let’s cease reading this post about me and stampede to the comments about me. Shall we?

Yours. Mine. Ours.

Joob

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Author: June

At one point, I was sort of hot, in a "she's 27 and probably a 7" kind of a way. Now I'm old and have to develop a charming personality. Guess how that's going.

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