Happy Monday, y’all. It’s still dark out there, but at least the sunrise looks pretty.
We spent the mid-weekend day of puttering doing our things. Shawshank loaded up the washer, and did things while I put on my makeup. We watched the second half of the Victorian Pharmacy series. We folded clothes. I played an hour or so of Disco Elysium before we went to Shady Acres for dinner.
Meet one of the stream regulars.
He has a gas fetish and absolutely no social skills. Every interaction brings me right back to the heyday of ICQ and random chats from Saudi Arabian guys. I shut down his incessant demands in the chat. “Can you burp? Burp for me.” If I don’t acknowledge him, he’ll spam chat with “answer my question please”. He’s like a toddler who thinks the word “please” is a magic key to getting what he wants. He announces he’s leaving chat by telling me exactly how long he’ll be gone. I find his shit amusing in an on-going train-wreck sort of way, so I haven’t blocked him. That’s not to say I let him run wild, I called him out for being an entitled little shit the other day and he left chat for the rest of the night.
Today is the ultimate Sloth day. Shawshank will make brunch for us, and I’ll assume a human form.
