Oh dear God my Buffistas! So much love and rage and sadness and fist-shaking and kicking at the darkness for Kate and her friend (sometimes I think I've been close to that place because it's been so bad for me, but even from the worst of where I was I can't imagine how much more intolerable the pain must have been for her that this seemed reasonable and right), and Cash (all vibes to your mom and her results and extra kicks to the vacationing doctor -- as someone who works for doctors, I feel qualified to call that pure horseshit), and Burrell and her sisters and the misery of having to go to work and hold it together when it's practically killing you to do so, and extra kicks with my stompy cowgirl boots to the stupid fucking assholes on ita !'s so-called "team."

RAGE.

October 2013, you're atrociously bad at Octobering. You're supposed to be all crisp leaves and harvest moons and bats and costumes and pumpkin Peeps, not grief and sorrow and shutdowns and more misery than good people deserve to bear. October 2013, you SUCK.

Yesterday's migraine took a break this morning, but it is plotting a return. I can feel it. Not cool. I don't have time for this.

Tomorrow is our big Silent Auction for CJ's search and rescue team. I've been in charge of registration, which has gone ok. But we have to set everything up, deal with last minute donations (which are appreciated but take extra work) and put together a new check in process. Then work check in, drink, and get ready to close the auction, tally everything up and be ready for check out.

Today - I need to finish working, pick up one donation, assemble another, make cookies for the dessert auction portion of the event, cheer for my A's, and (hopefully) get some sleep.

I have cat throwing urges on the regular, though I've yet to succumb.

In good news, I sent an email to that person's boss and just said that we had asked her but she might have a conflict and could he step in if she couldn't move it. So he is taking the presentation instead!

Of course, it's in NJ, she is in Philadelphia, and he is in Buenos Aires. Oh well. He'll get some miles.

I am trapped under a cat with only one hand to type on my phone.

I am taking self portraits of the back of my head surfing the internet.

Oh, my limits, I have found ye...

I did get and insane burst of energy and made the pastry (but not lined the pans) and cooked down the filling (apples, pears, nutmeg, ginger, low-gly sugar and powdered lemon) for one pie. First time with this pastry (whole wheat flour (cheat!), sour cream, vodka trick) so maybe I shouldn't take it straight into the office and I should wait and make them another one...yeah, that sounds sensible.

I've also cleaned up the mess from that part of the pie so it will be ita ! juice that I must summon to roll out the pastry alone. I even (hurriedly) patted the pastry into thick discs to hopefully ease that transition along.

As I stopped at a gas station to pick up snacks after work, a woman came running across the parking lot carrying a baseball bat. Turns out, she had smashed in somebody's windshield on the other side of the store and took off.

Wish I'd had the presence of mind to snap a picture and get her license number, but I was too flabbergasted.

I saw a woman learning how to ride a unicycle at the City Hall plaza on my walk to the library. Not nearly as exciting as your encounter!

One week to get my apartment spic and span before the 'rents get here. Hope to not fuck my ankle up more in the process. I still have random shit to clean like the spatter of dinner on the wall when the moulding over the cabinets decided to break loose and actually landed in the pot of pasta. Sooo many dishes to do. I'm such a slob. At my office at work I finally broke down and washed the collection of water glasses, mugs, and bowls that I had stored on top of my CPU and desk. There are seed packets and garden gloves on the floor and I can't give a fuck because there's no place to put anything, so it piles up until it spills over. Same thing at home. I have no furniture to store stuff, and I won't, because my tenure here is fleeting. Landlady hasn't even cashed my rent, which pisses me off because I could have paid bills on time instead.

One week to get my apartment spic and span before the 'rents get here. Hope to not fuck my ankle up more in the process

Your parents won't understand? I'm grateful mine sent me my sister.

My apartment could be nigh perfect and my mother would still run her finger over my fan to pick the dust off and show me her dirty finger in judgment. It could BE perfect and she'd rearrange my bookshelf so that it was more aesthetically pleasing instead of efficient. I have much trauma related to how my mother sees my living space, and I always try to minimize that. Shit, she reorganizes my closets.

Thank fuck she can't get into my attic to judge all the crap I'll throw up there. Dad's just oblivious. Mom will find the pans I stashed in the oven.