While The Cat's Away

The mice will play.  Strip poker.  Or Russian Roulette.

Andy's over on Mt. St. Helen's until tomorrow night.  So while my husband chills out on a volcano and does Man Things (honestly, I would have gone, too, if I didn't have to work and if temperatures below 65 degrees didn't kill my soul and parts of my flesh), I'm going buck wild up in here. 

And by buck wild, I mean that I didn't get around to doing the dishes until two hours after I ate dinner.  In all fairness, there was a huge amount of dishes and the counter was covered in coffee grounds and spilled coffee, and there were two half-empty cups of black coffee just hanging out and going to waste.  I was at work all day.  This was not my mess.  Do I sound bitter?  Sorry.  I just feel like, you know, somebody should be tipping the maid.  That's all.

As if doing the dishes SLIGHTLY LATER THAN USUAL wasn't rebellious enough, I worked on what I hope will be the last cover letter I have to write for at least a year.  But I didn't finish it.  I just didn't have the mental energy to come up with a snappy closing paragraph.  So it waits until tomorrow.

Now, to continue with my streak of reckless abandon, I'm going to sip on some serious sizzurp.  (Right after I punch myself in the face for trying to use the word 'sizzurp'.)  And by that, I mean I'm going to microwave a cup of piping hot ginger tea and watch Cougar Town on Hulu.  After which I will get in bed and read more of Norman Mailer's The Executioner's Song, because I'm weirdly fascinated with Gary Gilmore, the second to last criminal executed by firing squad in Utah. 

Oh my god.  I'm so boring and responsible.  I'm the worst.  I guess maybe I am a Real Adult, even if I don't have the level of employment I feel should accompany that status.  Maybe all it takes to be a Real Adult is to take your vitamins, (try to) keep your house clean, budget your money responsibly, eat vegetables, and actually desire to sit in your house and do quiet things.  Unless that's the definition of a Real Boring Adult Who Is Poor and Has Low Self-Esteem and Anti-Social Tendencies.  Part of me thinks I am a huge loser for not going up the street to the gas station for a Four Loko so I can get tore up and take ironic mirror shots to post on my tumblr.  Then the sane part of me thinks that I'm a loser for thinking I'm a loser for not wanting to do that.  Where does this cycle end?  It ends when I have a day off and can sleep in, regroup, exercise, eat at normal times, and regain just a touch of sanity to see me through the following six days of work.