I'm all cranky and cold. It's cold, and I can't afford to turn the heat on, and my fingers are getting numb at the keyboard. Saturday I was deathly, and I do mean deathly, hungover all day - as you may have been able to guess by reading those two posts below - and yesterday I was cranky and so I cleaned my whole house. Now my house is trashed again because about 8 hours after I swept up all the camping foam that Jackson had shredded, he went and found a couple of stuffed animals and disemboweled them all over the living room. The dog is just not happy unless he is surrounded by tiny fragments. A is thinking maybe we could donate him to a junkyard or somewhere that they need to shred things, so I'm looking into it. He'd be a great organic mobile paper shredder for politicians' offices, but what he really excels in is upholstery.
The wind is howling and I have to wrap my house in plastic. Yuck. What a drag. The landlord hasn't told me yet whether my chimney is safe for fires and I'm more than a little curious, since I really want to build a fire, if not right now, then definitely Thursday night. Thursday night I'm having a dinner party. Because I still have no oven, I'm going to my mother's all day on Wednesday to do all the roasting preparations - make bread and a pie and roast the veggies for a nice fall roasted veggie/squash soup.
And, as I mentioned, I'm cranky. I'm lonely and I'm bored and I want someone to hang out with, and I'm tired of the fact that every time I bestir myself to even start to like a guy, he immediately freaks out and disappears, or cuts my heart out with a knife, or just gets pale and backs away babbling, "Uh, I'm sorry, never in a thousand years, get back you freak!" I swear I haven't turned into a cephalopod for, like, 1000 years, and I don't know what is so freaking wrong with me, but I'm starting to feel like I have tentacles growing out of unsightly places. Other people seem to have no trouble whatsoever moving from lover to lover but me? It's like I used up my lifetime quota of boyfriends, my relationship karma is shot, and, to paraphrase Richard Brautigan, if I'd been dead for 10 days I still couldn't attract a male fly. It really feels hopeless and, yes, thanks, I'd like to wallow in self pity now.
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