Oh jeez

And that's not said in a religious sense. I cuss (as they used to call it back in the midwest in the 60s) all the time. I learned to cuss at age 16 at my first job, the Jack in the Box at the corner of NASA Road One and Kirby Road. Partly it was because I was grown up enough to have my first job. Part of it was that it was impossible to work at Jack in the Box without resorting to profanity, as in, "The ice machine is completely fucked up" -- no other way to express it.

So anyway, yesterday was a bloody stupid day, and I should have had that Belle and Sebastian song ("Don't Leave the Light On, Baby") playing over and over. The worst moment was when I accidentally let the cat out the front door while trying strenuously not to let him out; I'm terrified he will run away, as he bagan life as a feral. I responded to this event by baning my head against the wall and nearly breaking down in tears. This morning I woke up and realized that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have that latte at 5:00 pm, even if it was "half caf." I think I was having caffeine psychosis. It's happened once before and it's really no fun.

So I never made it to the Lusty Lady Play Day, what a bummer. I didn't get the chance to give a copy of my new book to Ayesha, the performer I pestered in the booth all summer while researching the new story "Booth Girl" (Hey, I really was going to a strip club for "research"!) and I didn't get the chance to contribute to the dancers' Xmas fund. But a couple of friends I recruited to go, went anyway, so at least the gals got something. I hope their Xmas pot was huge.

Maybe one of these days I'll get a chance to write about Advent. I'll try tomorrow.