Well, I did it. I lived through my anniversary with Ned without caving and talking to him. It's now been 40 days since I've seen him. So basically he's Lent.
I mostly just tried to not be swallowed by my gaping maw yesterday. To-Do List: Escape maw.
We had a team-building thing at work, yesterday, and before that I had a lot of thinking-hard work to do, so that helped.
Yes, a dog IS kind of part of our team.
There was a happy hour after work, but I didn't go because I do not feel happy. Instead, I went to therapy, because par-tay, and then after I screamed to the grocery store for migraine meds and got some water. Because par-tay.
I changed pharmacies, as Ned and I went to the same one. My grocery store's pharmacy is pretty good; they're usually fast. The pharmacist has quite the personality on her, however. Celebrate good times, come on! It's sparkling, is what I'm saying to you. If there were a spider up in the corner of her pharmacy, the web would read Some Personality.
If you had a web, what would your spider write about you? Mine would be all Get Over It Already.
At my old pharmacy, the pharmacist's name was Anemone, and I always wanted to see him undulate floral-ly but he never did. There was also an assistant or tech or whatever named Anais, and while she knew she was named after an author, she never pursued any further information. I'm the one who had to tell her she was named after erotica.
Wouldn't you, you know, LOOK UP the person you were named after? How can you go through life being that uncurious? Do you just stare out the window with your mouth half open most of the day?
Speaking of which, we have a new president today. A Ned anniversary and the inauguration in 24 hours is almost more than I can bear.
I'm wearing black today.
Anyway, when I got home last night, my tenant, fmr., came over and we worked out together. We'd been complaining of our ...signature looks we had going, and we decided if we had someone else to account to, we'd work out more. She's going to come over again Sunday after she finishes bottling gin.
I swear to god.
Any time you ask her if she's available for something, she has the weirdest answers. Last time I asked her, "Hey, you going to hee-de-bloo bloo?" she said, "Oh, I wanted to, but I have my ukulele lesson."
Then yesterday, I was all, "When can we work out again," and we can't on Saturday because I get my roots done THANK GOD BECAUSE WE'RE LATE WITH IT, and then I have a date. My hairdresser got the flu. That's why my hair is late. And now I'm Shirley Maclaine when Deborah Winger had cancer and Jack Nicholson came to the pool.
You know, then. That time. Faithful Reader Paula will know the scene I mean.
Anyway, I asked my tenant, fmr., when she could come over again to work out and she said, "I can come Sunday, after I bottle gin."
Apparently there's some small group of men doing the artisanal thing with this small gin plant, and they get volunteers to help them bottle it. I think you get to drink gin after. I don't know how my tenant, fmr., finds things like this. Last weekend, she went to the big cat preserve and watched them grind Christmas trees to give to the big cats. I have no idea why they even wanted Christmas trees. Most of the big cats I know are Jewish.
Coincidentally, gin tastes like Christmas trees to me, so she's kind of doing a circle of life up in there.
Oh my god I have to get in the shower and get to work where no one likes me and they don't care if I'm even there. One thing I like about feeling tragic is it doesn't permeate to every corner of your life or anything. It doesn't cloud everything. Nope.
Okay, talk to you later.
Some personality,
June
