Well, this is weird. My therapist graduated me. Me! And when I think about it, she’s right. I mean, other than my crippling phobias and deep desire to mate with Barry Gibb, I’m pretty good.
I saw her last night and got the news that I seem pretty good and don’t really need to go anymore. My mother pointed out that she’s like all my doctors who die or quit, and why have I been in therapy since 1975, do you think, MOM?
Anyway, now I’m completely mentally sound and it’s likely I’ma have to lord that over you at every turn. I’ll be like Nellie Olesen, but instead of a candy shop, I’ll have my degree from therapy.
I think that’s pretty much my biggest news from yesterday.
Oh, but also this happened…
My boss, fmr., is back! He’ll be working remotely, unfortunately, but he’s back! I guess it’s good he’s remote, as you’ll recall we got off on the tangents. In fact, when I saw him yesterday and learned he’d returned, I said, “You can’t work here for real unless you agree it was a baby that Billy Jo McAllister threw off the Tallahatchie Bridge,” and he was all, “I can’t agree to that because it isn’t true” and 45 minutes later the person trying to do his paperwork was still standing there helpless.
So, yes. Remote. That’ll work for all of us. But YAY!
My job is a weird place where people come and go a lot. My industry is a weird one where you leave one job and see 49 of the people you worked with at the next job. It’s very Laverne and Shirley leave Milwaukee for LA and Lennie and Squiggie and Laverne’s dad and girlfriend also are in LA.
Why didn’t Laverne’s dad ever marry that girlfriend? Or did he? And if he did, did he marry her at the bowling alley or Laverne’s apartment? It always annoyed me that they did that on Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley. Those were the most popular shows of their time, and yet the makers of Happy Days couldn’t swing for the temporary wedding chapel set. “Oh, we’ll have prom at Arnold’s!”
Also yesterday, my friend Dot sent me Irises because of Iris, a thing I still can’t think about. I just looked back at them and they’re starting to open. I wonder if I should take them to work, lest some buff-ass kitten leap onto the mantle and break this pretty purple vase.
Iris died exactly to the day seven years after I adopted her. Isn’t that weird? December 22. I didn’t tell you about it for several days cause I could not.
I’ve heard other people say, after their pet dies, that they can never get another, never do that to themselves again. I’ve never felt that way, but now I kind of do.
But, I mean, it’s not like I’m out of pets. I’m not a slob. Well. But I wasn’t right then. The scenario was this. I walked into the bedroom and Edsel as usual had taken my robe from the bathroom to the bedroom, where he likes to rub his face longingly into every crevice. I went to the bed to get the robe and Edsel jumped up for pets, then Milhous jumped UNDER the covers and I threw them to the side so he wouldn’t smother. Then Lily jumped up cause needy. And that is why everything in that photo is messy.
I’m not messy; I’m mentally strong.
Okay, I gotta go. Oh! One more thing. You’re all in the door trying to back out.
What am I, a 2C or a 3A?
I had this pertinent discussion with Wedding Alex yesterday at work, but I’ll get your opinion as well. It matters because the products I buy and the methods I use to have decent curls depend on it. Good luck; we’re all counting on you.