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Friday, April 30, 2004
I Love You Means Never Having to Say, “I’m Sorry I Ate the Rest of Your Pad Thai.”
The past 24 hours (or 36 hours by the time I post this) has been a rollercoaster. That only goes down. Which might a good trait for a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend, but ain’t so fun for . . . y’know, this whole metaphor is just falling apart.

I wish that waking up to find my pad thai gone was the worst thing that could happen yesterday. Y’see, my honey (the same one who ate my pad thai) had a crap-tacular day at work yesterday. And ended up quitting. (Not the phone call I wanted to get in the middle of the afternoon, but she’d had a really shitty day, so I tried to be as supportive as possible while setting our financial future dial to “Self-Destruct.” Luckily, her ineffective supervisor beeped in and took her resignation as a bluff (which it wasn’t). So, reportedly, things were going to be starting “fresh” today.

Glad to know I can put away my harakiri death-mat. For now.

Other (somewhat trivial) bad things that have happened since waking up Thursday morning:

-- Mia played with my $12 Panama Jack sunglasses until they broke. I really liked those glasses.

Okay, so not much of a list. I mean, really, what the fuck, man?

So, I’ve been really busy this past week; I’m actually writing this on my lunchbreak. I still have a Christ-load of CDs to send out, including one for Mark who’s been doing some networking for my band. (Thanks!) And a special mix CD with bonus tracks for Mrs. Dayment.

But sometimes, nature provides a nice, distracting backdrop to our mundane existance. We had our first honest-to-goodness thunderstorm of the season this morning. I was trying to weigh the odds of being struck by lightning in the shower while I had a bowl of cereal. I decided to go ahead and take a shower, and listened cautiously to the rumbles of thunder through the mist and our tin roof.

If I'm struck by lightning in the next six months, it'll be because I talked shit about Dubya and he is, in fact, one of God's little lambs. But if I make it to Election Day unscathed, it'll be because I either didn't talk enough shit to enrage God, or He wants me around to see what Dubya has comin' to him (y'know, karma and all).

Or, maybe there's no God.