Hell and Damnation

Oh for frack's sake, that was just ridiculous. Let's not do that again anytime soon, shall we?

If I am feeling whoopdeelio ambitious, I might stick an old photo in here for entertainment value, or I might just relegate you lot to my increasingly cranky and undelicious words.

To list the things that went wrong would only take too much space and make me cry (again).

To tell you that I spent a recent birthday a: getting rained on and b: crying would only be a pity party - not that I don't deserve such a thing, given the dearth of actual party.

To tell you that I've been a week sans Internet, sans TV, and sans DVD player (until I remembered I could just call Boywich and have him tell me how to hook the latter up) would be...well, complainish.

Would it help if I told you the damned movers broke nearly everything I owned?

Would it help if I told you they threw everything in a huge pile, and that I've spent the last 8 days digging myself out from under it, in little increments punctuated by my back going massively and horrendously out?

Would it help if Baby Kitwich mewed piteously at you from behind the fridge?

Well. It's all true, and then some.

Today it is pelting, but absolutely pelting down rain outside our window. I can see rivers in the streets and the drops are coming down so hard they are positively loud.

I saw you-know-who earlier; he's been sick and is still not well enough to play with me, though he was kinda nice. Kinda very nice, on his spectrum of weird-to-nice. I wanted to take his clothes off, there on the street corner, and eat him like a handsome little birthday cake. I mean, I didn't have cake, after all, so the universe owes me.