This has been a very BLAH week. I took a day off on Tuesday and was continuously ripped from my slumber by calls from the office. "Where's the copy for X?"
"It's on my desk. Leave me alone."
"Where are the amendments to X?"
"I'll email them to you. Now LEAVE me alone!"
I have sadly neglected my dear friends in prison, the ones who count on me for correspondence in the form of letters. Instead, I have been working, sleeping, eating, and sleeping. But bless, they still continue to write. Makes me feel bad.
Last night my cat - the one that cost about as much as a generous donation to a small African country - got stuck in the cross bars of the ironing board. I'm still at a loss at how she managed to get up there. I was taking a nap when she started shrieking like a banshee. I just assumed she was fighting with my other cat - and losing, quite badly. Eventually the tone of the banshee scream changed to a blood-curdling growl. I peeped out from under the blanket and saw her dangling there, arm twisted into some weird position. SO I hopped out of bed to save her - much like a fireman saves a cat from a tree - only to have my hand lacerated by the thrashing needles she has on the ends of her paws.
Great. Super. Just wonderful. I'm tired and look like a wreck. Not scarey-looking, mind you. Just dreary and washed out. Like my friend the scarecrow.
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