RAWR!
I admit that I am fallible, just like everybody else (except the Pope). Indeed, I believed my work day today was from nine to five, when in all actuality it was from nine to six. Obviously, I was wrong. Okay.
Exhibit A: Em arranges for the boyfriend who loves her to pick her up from her place of employment at five PM.
Exhibit B: In order to correct her error and spare her loving boyfriend the trouble of two trips, Em attempts to call him at four-thirty PM. Unfortunately, there is no answer.
Repeated attempts to call throughout the following thirty minutes are similarly unyielding. No big deal; she will simply have to forego the niceties of giving him fair warning and turn him around at the door.
Exhibit C: Five o'clock rolls around; still no loving boyfriend.
Exhibit D: Six o'clock rolls around; still no loving boyfriend.
Exhibit E: Six-twenty rolls around; still no loving boyfriend. Repeated attempts to contact him via home and cell phones prove futile. Em begins the trek home.
Exhibit F: Em charges around the corner of 18th and Cervantes, where her loving boyfriend's car is parked quaintly outside. Obviously there has been no life-threatening emergency or accident. She storms through the side door of the house and up the stairs, where her loving boyfriend's form is collapsed beneath a heap of blankets. The blankets are moving, ruling out possible Heaven's Gate-esque suicide or SIDS.
Exhibit G: The house is a bloody wreck. Em begins to [loudly] tidy up the mess of the previous night and day. Her loving boyfriend does not stir.
Exhibit H: Em is typing furiously at her Live Journal when, at precisely six fifty-four PM her loving boyfriend opens an eye and mumbles, "What? Why is there an Em here?" "Because it is seven o'clock," she replies coolly. "I set my alarm," he continues in sleep-slurred speech. "Okay . . . ?" she retorts. "I'm sorry," he whines. "Did you walk?" "Yes." "I'm sorry . . ." he whines again. "Doesn't matter now," she answers in a voice that could frost Hell.
I hate my life.
In other news (now that I've rambled and spit out my daily pity-party rant, thus meeting my self-pity quota for the next twelve hours), AJ's two weeks with Lily has rolled around once again. He informed me a few days ago that he will be moving to Jacksonville, and that our daughter-swapping arrangements will have to switch to something around three months.
I worry about how this will effect things. I will miss her for three months, then be desperate for the next; my mother will be inconsolate; Lily will be raised in two completely different cities by two completely different families in two completely different environments. How do children handle that? Especially now, when she's learning to trust people and developing the emotional stability she will have to rely on for the rest of her life? But it doesn't look like I have many choices. I can't see myself telling AJ that he can't see her, nor can I see myself not seeing her. The latter, as a matter of fact, is completely out of the question. That leaves either accepting the arrangement or prolonging the swap-dates to six month intervals, which doesn't seem any better.
Gwyn has moved back into the house, which I should have expected. We were, after all, absent one resident lesbian since Laura got curb-stomped. ::Cough:: I mean, kicked to the curb. She is very rarely here, preferring to spend most of her time with her girlfriend, but just the same I'm enjoying the company. I actually missed having her around. From the love we share for Hazelnut coffee from Circle K to her backrubs (which I have yet to sample since her return), the girl is a pleasure to have around. She helps clean, loves Lily as much as I do, and provides a source of constant entertainment and conversation.
Work, aside from today, has been surprisingly enjoyable--especially since I've begun to get the hang of things. I'm able to deal with minor customer questions and phone calls now, which means I don't feel so utterly incompetent that I'm forced to reduce myself to janitorial tasks (i.e. Windexing every french door in the establishment and scrubbing boot scuffs from the sideboards.) The pay is totally lacking, but that's my own damn fault for not having the guts to corner my boss and discuss it with him.
Which brings me to my final news! Alex, instead of moving out so I can fix up the downstairs and rent it to a paying tenant, has asked me if she can stay and pay the rent. The extra four hundred a month will be a Godsend, plus I won't have to worry so much about the dilapidated state of the apartment. I can fix things up while I'm receiving rent money.
That brings me up to date, I believe. And my loving boyfriend is still . . . sleeping. >.<
Em, Captain of the LDH Fast Sinker, over and out.
Exhibit A: Em arranges for the boyfriend who loves her to pick her up from her place of employment at five PM.
Exhibit B: In order to correct her error and spare her loving boyfriend the trouble of two trips, Em attempts to call him at four-thirty PM. Unfortunately, there is no answer.
Repeated attempts to call throughout the following thirty minutes are similarly unyielding. No big deal; she will simply have to forego the niceties of giving him fair warning and turn him around at the door.
Exhibit C: Five o'clock rolls around; still no loving boyfriend.
Exhibit D: Six o'clock rolls around; still no loving boyfriend.
Exhibit E: Six-twenty rolls around; still no loving boyfriend. Repeated attempts to contact him via home and cell phones prove futile. Em begins the trek home.
Exhibit F: Em charges around the corner of 18th and Cervantes, where her loving boyfriend's car is parked quaintly outside. Obviously there has been no life-threatening emergency or accident. She storms through the side door of the house and up the stairs, where her loving boyfriend's form is collapsed beneath a heap of blankets. The blankets are moving, ruling out possible Heaven's Gate-esque suicide or SIDS.
Exhibit G: The house is a bloody wreck. Em begins to [loudly] tidy up the mess of the previous night and day. Her loving boyfriend does not stir.
Exhibit H: Em is typing furiously at her Live Journal when, at precisely six fifty-four PM her loving boyfriend opens an eye and mumbles, "What? Why is there an Em here?" "Because it is seven o'clock," she replies coolly. "I set my alarm," he continues in sleep-slurred speech. "Okay . . . ?" she retorts. "I'm sorry," he whines. "Did you walk?" "Yes." "I'm sorry . . ." he whines again. "Doesn't matter now," she answers in a voice that could frost Hell.
I hate my life.
In other news (now that I've rambled and spit out my daily pity-party rant, thus meeting my self-pity quota for the next twelve hours), AJ's two weeks with Lily has rolled around once again. He informed me a few days ago that he will be moving to Jacksonville, and that our daughter-swapping arrangements will have to switch to something around three months.
I worry about how this will effect things. I will miss her for three months, then be desperate for the next; my mother will be inconsolate; Lily will be raised in two completely different cities by two completely different families in two completely different environments. How do children handle that? Especially now, when she's learning to trust people and developing the emotional stability she will have to rely on for the rest of her life? But it doesn't look like I have many choices. I can't see myself telling AJ that he can't see her, nor can I see myself not seeing her. The latter, as a matter of fact, is completely out of the question. That leaves either accepting the arrangement or prolonging the swap-dates to six month intervals, which doesn't seem any better.
Gwyn has moved back into the house, which I should have expected. We were, after all, absent one resident lesbian since Laura got curb-stomped. ::Cough:: I mean, kicked to the curb. She is very rarely here, preferring to spend most of her time with her girlfriend, but just the same I'm enjoying the company. I actually missed having her around. From the love we share for Hazelnut coffee from Circle K to her backrubs (which I have yet to sample since her return), the girl is a pleasure to have around. She helps clean, loves Lily as much as I do, and provides a source of constant entertainment and conversation.
Work, aside from today, has been surprisingly enjoyable--especially since I've begun to get the hang of things. I'm able to deal with minor customer questions and phone calls now, which means I don't feel so utterly incompetent that I'm forced to reduce myself to janitorial tasks (i.e. Windexing every french door in the establishment and scrubbing boot scuffs from the sideboards.) The pay is totally lacking, but that's my own damn fault for not having the guts to corner my boss and discuss it with him.
Which brings me to my final news! Alex, instead of moving out so I can fix up the downstairs and rent it to a paying tenant, has asked me if she can stay and pay the rent. The extra four hundred a month will be a Godsend, plus I won't have to worry so much about the dilapidated state of the apartment. I can fix things up while I'm receiving rent money.
That brings me up to date, I believe. And my loving boyfriend is still . . . sleeping. >.<
Em, Captain of the LDH Fast Sinker, over and out.