Frankly, I haven’t had the gumption to write. Or do much of anything.
After the inauguration in January, the most overused term of the year, dumpster fire, became the only one really suitable for the nation that is.
My main client became more than I could deal with and it was just time to go. And it was just time to be back in an office around other people.
I’ve spent since April looking for my new real job and have been temping, which was actually kind of great.
I’m pleased now that I am finally gainfully employed again. I think getting my hair cut off changed my luck.
Not only did I find my real job, Burt Reynolds kissed me.
If I died right this very second, I’d be perfectly okay with it. Because I have kissed Burt Reynolds, my first love. He smelled exactly like I thought he would.
As if that wasn’t enough, on the way home from some contract work, I found a dog loose in the street, eating out of a styrofoam take-out container. I lured him to my car with a peanut butter sandwich and brought him home.
Booch is right here on the couch with me and Puppy. He has a shiny new collar and leash and a plushy new bed and I’m not giving him back. Whoever lost him and left him out in the cold to scavenge for chicken wings should have planned better.
So here I am with the two loves of my life, one of whom won’t poop when I tell her to because she can’t hear and the other of whom won’t because he doesn’t want to.
It does not suck being me.