Why yes, it's another running commentary.

7:27.  A chill sort of morning.  High time I bought warmer shoes.

 

Last night wasn't bad.  ... that is, aside from nearabouts chopping off the tip of one finger trying to open a bag of noodles.  (Next pasta night, I'm making fresh noodles.  It's less dangerous.)  Also the curbstomping.  Holy shit, Golbez.

 

HE IS GOOD BUT I STILL CALL SHENANIGANS.  HE TOTALLY SIC'D THE MAN IN BLACK ON ME AND WE ALL KNOW WHAT A MAN IN A KILT DOES TO DISTRACT ME.  (ANSWER: HE'S IN A KILT DAMMIT)

 

Today, it's the laundry shift.  Though my cut is an obvious ugly son of a bitch I kept the presence of mind to improvise a tourniquet for the finger.  Unlike the last one, I kept my head about me.  It closed in the same space of time it took to cook dinner. 

 

Still itches like hell though.

 

The day shall be three adventures:  work, errands (headache meds, the pharmacy ran out of one of my pills and I must make a second trip) and a trip to someplace with Wi-Fi.  I also need to download Scrivener.

 

In addition to a lot of my drafts being on that program, I'll need it for National Novel Writing Month, which kicks of on the first. I wonder if anyone else wants to succumb to the darkness give it a shot.  Well...?

 

My train is here.  Time to make some money—as the goblins say, “Time is money, friend.”

 

8:04 AM.  Cannot remember if I packed my Nook.  I'm praying not, because I can't find it.  Hope it's on my couch.

 

8:47  AM:  *ka-tak!*

 

I look down to find out that the source of the noise is my last good purse-handle, snapping like a twig.  My trip to the pharmacy will have to wait: I cannot go out with a handle-less purse.  I'll swap it out for my gaming messenger bag before I head out there.

 

2 PM.  As it turns out the pharmacy doesn't reopen until 4.  I've time to snack, purse-swap, nap, and do the dishes before I head out.

 

OH, HEY!  My Nook is on the couch.  Now I remember; I packed chicken instead.  I am relieved.

 

4:17 PM.  Out the door, off to get my meds and download my writing program...  a step out the door reveals the HUD van.  My nerves are officially wound tight again.  I find myself praying for a catastrophic failure of the pipes or something: the alternative, with my bed unmade and the dishes still soaking, is the very thing my recurring nightmare is made of.  ... If my door is bolted on my return, I may panic.

 

5:56 PM.  It'll take about half an hour for the thing to download on fast-food joint Wi-Fi.  In comparison, from arrival to fill the medicine run was less than half that.  Possibly because it's public Wi-Fi, the damn thing stops altogether if I kill the firewall; at home this would speed things up.  The good news is this gives me things to think about besides what may or may not be the avatar of the looming spectre of eviction.
The bad news is that this gives me much time to smell the delicious aroma of food that is bad for me but tastes so good.  ... Just my luck, I'm hungry.  And, I want a sweet tea.

 

7:23 PM.  My key turns in the lock with a single click.

 

Safe again.

 

... the family member I'd hired for $80/month has failed to show up, or even to call, for an entire month.

 

Safe bet: she's out of the job she never showed up to do past that first day.

 

Now I must clean up.

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