'Tis the season for leaving pieces of fried chicken lying about in the street, apparently. Lost count of how many I've pried from P's slavering jaws over the past week, still makes me feel like I'm going to puke every single time.
Was thinking about going out to see more music tonight, think I'm having more fun, or less guilt anyway, hanging with Mr. P.
T got her big time management job, hip, hip.
4 comments:
I'd make a suggestion about training Mr. P, but it would be antithetical. I suspect you enjoy the companionship of an unfettered id.
yay for T!
She's a bit ambivalent about the whole thing of course as I imagine you can imagine.
i can sympathize. maybe this bit of wisdom that helped me can also help T: "I can’t imagine Jesus going ‘Oh, I’ve told a few people in Bethlehem I’m the son of God, can I just stay here with Mum and Dad now?’ No. You gotta move on. You gotta spread the word. You gotta go to Nazareth, please. And that’s, very much like...me. My world does not end within these four walls, Slough’s a big place. And when I’ve finished with Slough, there’s Reading, Aldershot, Bracknell, you know I’ve got to-Didcott, Yateley. You know. My-Winersh, Taplow. Because I am my own boss, I can-Burfield."
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