WordPress email be like, “Don’t just look at your stats” or whatever, but also, “Check out your competitors.” My what now? Competitors? Who the fuck is competing with this blog? What would that entail? She’s more neurotic? She finished her back hallway the year she started it? She doesn’t have to slide her knee skin up to shave? Does she post every day? Well la-ti-fucking-dah, good for her.
I really shouldn’t blog when I’m in a mood, but here we are.
Yes, I have actual problems like everyone else. However, I shall blog to you about all my petty annoyances and worries.
It was Monday and I had to go to work and therefore I had to take my pajamas off and put on a bra and shoes and make sense of my hair. My poor mother had a procedure today and I had trouble not checking my phone every 15-20 minutes, waiting for an update. Only half our swimmers made it to practice and my whole family napped off their sick all day. Reception had a plumbing crisis that kept her home. It was raining, which, let’s face it, is fine enough when you’re all workee workee indoors, but then, when I thought I’d work late, and was about to wrap up, the rain decided to intensify and so I worked more late, because work is preferred to anxious driving in rush hour, with poor visibility and the floody right lanes. The Mister thought he would help out, and tried to order quesoeverything takeout. Well the phone at the restaurant wasn’t working so he went to the place and it appears to be closed. Twenty-five years of nom, all gone? We are fairly devastated. So he went to the … more… the … less… our place was kind of an authentic dive and the other place is sorta … it’s not a dive, it’s… standard, common, pedestrian, predictable, cliche, even. It’s not dark, there’s no tacky bad art. The tables aren’t old as me and they don’t serve drinks in red pebbled plastic tumblers. The food doesn’t arrive remarkably fast, even for takeout. It’s not our place. We ate some of it, but it’s just not our place. Bleh, there was no comfort in that food. My mother is reportedly in a great deal of pain but she’s OK and we’ll know more after her appointment tomorrow.
I have got to go put on some jammies, eat a Dreamsicle, and sleep my face.
I’m reluctantly pinning a lot, ALAWT, of hope on Tuesday.