(9:45 a.m.)So, anyway, there we were, watching my hamster run frantically around, stuffing food and bits of paper towels into her mouth.
Hamsters are gross little critters. I felt bad for Blitzkrieg, whose cage I haven't cleaned for a while, because she was pressing her little hamster nose up to the vents in her cage and sniffing loudly. Unfortunately, it was about 12:30 at night, so I damn well wasn't going to clean her cage out right then. Instead, I moved her to her old cage, which is basically a plastic box with a well-vented lid. No amenities like wheels or water dispensers. Along with that, I put torn-up paper towels, food, and a slice of apple (for moisture and consolation). Was she pleased? No.
I set the cage on my bed, so that Sasha and I could easily watch the hamster scurry around frantically, stuffing paper towel bits and seeds in her mouth, taking huge bites of apple in between searching for an escape route. When a hamster's cheek pouches are stuffed to their utter limit, the critter resembles nothing so much as a short, furry cobra, with its hood flared. Unattractive, to say the least. Sasha was purring excitedly (she's a big fan of furry things that move quickly), and batting the cage with her paw every once in a while. I was waiting to see if Blitzkrieg would throw up all that stuff any time soon.
Stupid rodent went to sleep with that stuff in her cheek pouches.
See, this is the sort of important activity that makes me lose sleep.
Dirk did eventually hang up the phone on Tuesday. Or rather, his mother did. So, I called and talked to him for a few minutes. He didn't even remember me calling earlier in the day.
I picked him up from work with no problems. He'd had a bad night at work, and it showed. We got into a couple minor tiffs on the way home, which ended in a grande finale. He got mad at me, I asked him what was wrong, he told me to leave him alone. I left my room and slammed the door behind me. He did one better. He got his stuff together and walked out the front door. I followed him, we had it out on my front lawn, and I just told him he may as well go, since I couldn't stop him anyway, and I hadn't done anything to deserve him getting that angry with me. (He wouldn't stop doing something, and I got a little sharp with him) He gave up on the idea of leaving, went inside. I stayed on the front porch, crying.
I don't know why I was crying so hard. I just hurt inside, and every time I touched that place, mentally, I felt like I was poking at an open wound. I decided I wanted to go inside and cry in the bathroom, in relative privacy, away from Dirk and the eyes of the neighborhood.
When I opened the door, Dirk was there, hugging me and apologizing, but I kept pushing him away and telling him I wanted to go to the bathroom. Eventually, I got in the bathroom, got him to let me close the door, and sat there for a while, still bawling. Dirk got worried, started begging me to unlock the door, which I eventually did. At some point, I don't remember when, he got me calmed down enough to follow him into the bedroom for a nap. I went to sleep while he whispered apologies into my hair.
Dirk couldn't sleep, and after watching me sleep for a couple hours, woke me up and told me he was going online. I'd promised Dirk a surprise, and he spent a bit of time interrogating Katie, who had no idea what he was talking about. He thought it was something I'd get at the mall. I was thinking chinese take-out, actually.
I got up at 12:30, called my mother, and ordered the food. Dirk eventually got to sleep at 2:30, and I took another nap. Oh, the joy of not having to worry about college.
I woke up at 4:00, started the arduous process of hauling Dirk's butt outta bed (that boy sleeps harder than anyone I know). I got him home at around 5:00, after which I stopped by Katie A-‘s job to drop off a picture I wanted her to see, and the drycleaners, to pick up my jacket.
How does drycleaning work? I ask, because when I picked up my jacket, the nice guy at the front desk asked me to wait a few minutes, as my jacket wasn't completely ready yet. So I waited while they –get this– went after my jacket with a lint remover (one of those sticky rolling things). That better not be all it is. There'd better be more to it than that, or I'm going to be beyond pissed. For $4.50, I expect it to be vacuumed, at least. Maybe put through a blast furnace. I don't know.
I hurried home, then talked to Cathy while I cooked dinner (which consisted of putting rice and water into the rice cooker, and putting boneless chicken breasts into a baking pan, drenching them in bar-b-que sauce, and shoving them in the oven. I slave over my meals, can't you tell?)
I spent the rest of the evening with Katie. We were theoretically shopping for clothes. That lasted for about 45 minutes, during which time I only tried on one outfit. And showed her the lovely pink jacket that they no longer have in anything close to my size. We gave up and went to Ruby Tuesdays to eat and talk.
It's been too long since we hung out together without boyfriends (mine, hers, or both) hanging around. She's supposed to e-mail me today. Can you remind her, Chris?
Oh, the looking in girl stopped her journal. Bye-bye. I don't think I'll take down the link, since she's gone away. She mentioned "people" bashing her and her journal, and also said that someone had done so recently. Was that me? Did I do that? Was I the final straw for her? If so, I'll have to quit saying I never do good things.
Anyway, go to the link page and check it out. Her last paragraph is self-aggrandizing enough to have come from Roachboy.
That's all for now.
(12:20 am)I've been singing Ramones songs in my head. Probably because Dirk finally got his ass in gear and made me a tape of their first four albums, to play along to. He's writing down the notes tonight. For me. Because I'm special. I don't want to be mediocre all my life.
I'm thinking of getting contacts, because A) I still haven't found my glasses, and B) Sterling Optical is selling these really great ones that are fiery red and yellow, like a demon's eyes. I'll have to check out the price one day. Dirk doesn't want me to wear contacts, because they're "gross". Luckily, Dirk doesn't have a say in the matter.
Oh, BTW, Chris: nevermind. Katie e-mailed me.