Happy Humpday, folks. We have a sunny morning here, and clear skies. Chaucer is investigating Mom‘s luggage, being a douchebag to Knickknack, and running around the house like a nut. There’s a coffee on the windowsill. Typical morning.
Yesterday was pretty uneventful. I did my laundry. Typical for me, I have yet to put any of it away. I sat outside for a couple of hours yesterday and worked on the a house portrait. Instead of getting annoyed about the painting that I’m not happy with, I focused on the one that I did like. The afternoon’s too short to get caught up in mental art drama.
Mom’s flight was one of the thousands of American Airlines flights that ended up borked. She had a 2 hour delay out of DC, and so we didn’t get home until a little after midnight. And of course, neither of us is sleepy because we’re filling each other in with news of the last week of our lives. I had already mentally prepared for the later bedtime, and Shawshank and I had a good chat last night, just a little earlier than normal.
And it wasn’t like it was that different than any other night, to be honest. I crawled under the blanket at the same time I normally would be sliding the laptop under the a pillow and going to sleep. The only difference being that I didn’t watch anything before bed.
I have 4 weeks until I head north for the holidays. I’m starting to freak out a little, to be honest. I hate flying, I hate flying alone. It’s not so much the flying that I freak out about. Once I’m on in the plane, I’m fine. That means I’ve done everything right. Getting to the right gate or counter, however? Fuck all that, I hate everything about that. There’s just too many opportunities for me to fuck shit up.
Because that’s what I do.
I think we’ll just be staying home today. I have no problem with that.
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