ennui
2004-02-27 - 3:17 p.m.
Interestingly, I can't think of anything to write that doesn't sound either trite or relentlessly pedantic. The day is stretching out the hours like some malignant child pulling his taffy. Obstensibly, I have two hours left at work. In practice, this is two hours certain to be filled with slow e-mail, idiotic phone calls, and a maddening desire to throw myself bodily out the window, screaming into the wind "So long suckers!!!" Except replace the "s" with an "f." I am feeling missish as well as snide today.
I blame this squarely on what Weetabix delicately refers to as "my lady-time." I've had a good run, but lately the PMS and DMS is coming back and hitting me sqaure in the face. I've spent the week alternately making somewhat soupy declarations of passionate love to the husband and sniping at him for not making me dinner/tea/fill-in-the-blank. Cat has been steadfastly avoiding me (when she's not curled up right next to me) and I've been moping about the apartment, tragically declaiming that she doesn't really love me and next time we'll get a dog that will love me best (and secretly thinking "Just wait till we have a baby, because I'll be both provider of unconditional love AND food, and then we'll see who the favorite is, oh yes. Then we'll see, you bastard-whom-the-cat-loves-best!").
R has been a prince, as usual. Announcing the cat does not love him best, quietly saying that it's only because he's home more often, upbraiding the cat fiercely for not being demonstrative enough, and last but not least, making me copious amounts of tea. Last night he even rubbed lotion on my back. Although he did originally attempt to claim my back wasn't dry and didn't need lotion, leading me to snipe at him for presuming to know the needs of my back better than I did. Once he started slathering the lotion on, however, he admitted the foul error of his ways and apined as how my back was indeed extremely dry.
I've been starting off the day with a thermos of tea, gulped down like a frenzied banshee in drought. It's soothing, but would be infinitely more so if the thermos did not leak insolently all over me when I attempt to open it. It starts my whole day off in a funk, and may help explain why I've felt the urge to just lay in bed and never ever get up again.
I did order myself a trial size of The Soap, of which Weetabix raves. With any luck it is sitting in my little mail box even as I type, waiting for me to unwrap it while singing small anthems of joy under my breath. I shall let you all know how it goes.
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Die Entfuehrung aus dem Serail (The Abduction From
the Seraglio).
Which Mozart Opera Does Your Life Most Resemble?
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