I’m not ready to be at work right now. I think I need to go back to bed and try again.
My African violet is pissed at me. It requires water. It’s going to team up with the Asian pear I have hanging out on my desk and bludgeon me while I’m removing spots and scratches from soon-to-be obituary photos.
David Matayoshi just walked by cryptically smiling at me. WTF? Psycho.
I need some more water. Maybe I’ll share some with my plant.
Superman was hanging out on the corner of Broadway and Pine this morning. He had a sign asking for money. Why does Superman have to ask for money? He should deliver pizzas. That’d be a perfect job for a Superman. Then he wouldn’t have to panhandle anymore. He must get cold in those tights.
Phil told me that I am an abject fail. Whew. I was afraid he didn’t like me anymore.
Boon has a cold. Or allergies. She’s not sure which. I said ewwww. She said ya totally!
I’m trying to talk Phil into a hot dog and a Slurpee from 7-11 which is about 5 blocks down by Seattle Center. He says he won’t go unless I do. I do not want these things. For some reason I want him to get them. Wondering if the round trip 10-block trek is worth it. The weather is nice.
David says “you have to be in it to win it.” He never knows what “it” is.
Now David is rambling on about “ribbon candy”. For gawds sake. Ribbon candy? Yeah. My grandma had the stuff. She had the smaller versions that she would keep in crystal candy dishes with lids that had pointy crystal handles on top that would poke your hands when you went to lift it. Then of course the candy, which despite the array of colors all tasted like licorice, was so rigid that it would result in multicolored drool which traveled down the jawline, continuing down the neck and collecting in nice little pools of sugared saliva in the collar of your shirt to the utter joy of your mother. What the hell made him think of ribbon candy all of a sudden? Freak.
There’s stuff in my inbox. I suppose I should get to it. After I water my plant.
voulez-voulez-vous krebs cycle.