Today. . . Took turns two.
He is napping right now, and I am sitting at the computer and avoiding eye contact with our cat as I try to get down this post-that-isn't-really-a-post-because-have-I-mentioned-Took-turns-two-today-?-and-I've-got-too-much-shit-to-do.
. . . I am avoiding eye contact with the cat because she is on the back porch, and she wants back inside. (Again.) And she is looking at me (very sternly) through the window on the back door. And so far, she hasn't been verbal about wanting back inside, but if we should make eye contact. . . she is going to freak out, and begin throwing herself (bodily) against the glass. (She is just that big of a bitch.) She will literally climb the back door (it makes quite a bit of noise), absolutely frantic about her desire to come back inside OH JUST RIGHT NOW. (She's sweet and all, but if I'm being completely honest. . . her personality kind of sucks. But she's family. . . what're you gonna do? Also. . . she always smells like farts. Ask anybody. It's true.)
So I'm ignoring her.**
**(Consequently, this is also what you do with family, should they begin tossing themselves bodily against the back door. . . .I currently have no advice on how to handle relations that constantly smell of flatulence. But I'll let you know, when I figure it out.)
I have been sick for the last couple of days, and have simply felt wretched.
(I am not good at being sick. OH NO, NOT AT ALL.)
I always end up shuffling around, moaning, and trying to decide if I am being descriptive enough with my wails.
. . . Am I making the others in the house feel my pain? Really, TRULY, experience it?
If not, I always try a little harder. (One must never shirk one's commitment to excellence. Don't be a Half-Ass, be a Whole-Ass.)
And I am usually quite displeased with the amount of concern that my sniffles and wails generate.
Because I can tell just by looking at them that, however badly the members of my family are currently feeling for me. . . it is NOT bad enough.
Not by a long a shot, buddy.
So what usually ends up happening is that, while I am shuffling around in my bathrobe (with tissues in the pockets) and moaning pitifully to myself (and anyone that cares to listen), I am also USUALLY staring hate-daggers out of my eyes at anyone (Michael) who is not bending over backwards in sympathy over my struggle. . .
I AM EXPERIENCING A MEAT-SUIT MALFUNCTION!!!
I FEEL VERY BAD AND I DO NOT THINK YOU PROPERLY APPRECIATE JUST HOW BAD THAT IS!!!