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7-1-02 // 9.03 am keats and yeats are on your side, while wilde is on mine NP: The Smiths - "The Queen is Dead" I'm trying to get used to being back at work. There's work to be done (which is a welcome change from last week, where I was almost bored to death), but I'm still attempting to get in work mode. Mondays are like trying to go straight from first to third gear...there should be a day inbetween the weekend and the first proper day of work where you get to just come in for a couple of hours or whatever. Just as long as you feel like, basically. That'd be great...like gently easing into a cold swimming pool. The cat continues on his tyrannical biting spree. Well, that's an exaggeration, but he does take great pleasure in biting my toes (and last night, lunging at my exposed backside). I think, though, we can cure him of that. Honestly, we don't know what's wrong with him...maybe he's lonely. We're thinking about getting him another cat, considering he's had multiple cats around just about his entire life. I'm sure he gets lonely. He shouldn't be lonely or unhappy, especially if we can do something about it. The weekend was so great, I didn't want it to end. I always cling to the weekends, I cling to the chances to while away mornings and afternoons in bed with Erin, or sitting around in underwear reading papers and magazines. I savor the chance to relax and to (temporarily) have no schedule to speak of. Mostly, I miss the ability to lay there, as long as I like, with my arms wrapped around her. It feels like time stops when we're curled up like that. A private universe. Those are the most perfect moments in a gala parade of perfect moments. I still owe her a song. And a story. Actually, I owe her much, much more than that. After all she's given to me, all she's done for me? Oh yeah, I do.
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