The cleaning guy is eyeing me lasciviously and apologized repeatedly for not letting me know he was going to be on vacation last week. Going to have to figure out a way to return the gift card. As classy and graciously as one can return a gift directly to the person who gave it to them. I'm sure it won't be painfully awkward. I'm sure I won't put it off for weeks. This morning he scoffed at a remark I made about needing a vacation. I thought he was being playful but I failed until now to grasp the irony of saying that to a man who worked two jobs; at his first one before I even leave for mine and at his second one long after I return home from my day of non-manual labor. Whatever dude. Fine, you win. I still need a fucking vacation.
Yesterday Baloo ran to greet the same cleaning guy and I noticed she was limping. I love her furry butt and I'm confident she will break my heart. She's my reason for coming home. She's my reason for going out. She's my joy and sorrow and wonder at being outside. I like to watch her sniff the breeze. I love the way she literally looks down her nose at other dogs with a dominant stare and erect tail. So much attitude in that petite lab package. Gotta keep her healthy. Things wear down and wear out but I want as graceful an aging for her as possible. That's my girl.
I was putting away stuff at work today and realized I've probably already written a novel's worth of words in just this last two years. Writing a book is far different than work writing but the thought made writing seem more possible.
My sister is horrible wear and tear on all things. She rolls hard, son. She rolls hard. So many broken and prematurely worn things in such a short time.
1 comment:
Baloo don't take no guff.
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