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Tuesday. This morning I was cleaning the kitchen naked and Jamcracker jumped up and bit me on the ass. I would have thought it was damn funny, had I not been bleeding from the ass.
Heather and I have been good lately but NO MORE I tell you! She's come up with a bungholed idiotic new "system" (the quotation marks of scorn) where every employee has a "closing duty" to do at the end of the day and we have to REPORT to her and have her SIGN OFF on it before we can leave. Which amounts to me scrubbing down the nasty old kitchen as usual ever since Tiffani left, only now Heather gets to come inspect me and tell me I missed a spot and smirk. Motherfucker. She totally fucks her mom. I hope a scorpion claws its way up her cunt and never stops biting her. I was so mad I stole seven legos. I was seven-lego mad.
Will Smith threw himself full-length on the ground at my feet. Bruised his knees but wouldn't admit it. I'm still not going to "babysit" him, as he keeps asking. I'll pay you! I have my allowance! Dirty.
All day I think bad thoughts about my writing group. I don't want to go. We will be meeting in the bookstore I quit so rudely a few months ago. Do I really want to face those people? Can I do so without embarrassment or other bad things? It takes me all day to realize that I just plain don't want to go, for lots of reasons, and I don't go, dammit. I go to the park expecting to walk, but it's words that want to happen, and they do. A little sleep too. The robins live in this tree, and they never stop feeding their babies.