Sunday, December 23, 2007


Not this year, perhaps. My throat feels like someone drove a freight train through it.*

Of course the Friday right before the Christmas holidays is the most suspicious possible day to call in sick. I'm certain the panicmonger supervisor thought I was faking, so it's a good thing nobody invited her to happy hour. One of my coworkers was there. "I just had one of those 8-hour bugs," I told him.

Alas! how sharp the teeth of Karma, in your ass...

Some local real estate agent made the rounds of the neighborhood last week, dropping off poinsettias on everyone's doorstep. What a sucker! We're renting. But as far as I'm concerned he might as well have given me a puppy. What do I do with this? I already have so many plants, and all crowded indoors, too; and with the Christmas tree, dropping needles all over the place, there's hardly space to move in the living room. Next year? Smaller tree.

Fortunately over the next few days I'll get the chance to spread out a bit: Jim and the girls are going to San Antonio for Christmas, and leaving Eric and me here - since Eric has to be in truancy court again on the 27th. I'd have a party, but almost all my friends are out of town (sigh). But at least I can get some cleaning done.

It's too early in the morning for wassail, isn't it?

*Diane, get your mind out of the gutter

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