What's So Unpleasant About Being Drunk? You Ask a Glass of Water

I am either feeling drained from a long day of flying, or coming down with something. This is shaping up to be another crazy week, with Halloween on Tuesday, several papers due Wednesday, and Mike's birthday on Thursday. Oh, and if I really am going to do NaNoWriMo this year, that also starts Wednesday, and there is some outlining I need to do. I said I was going to get a head start on my classwork this evening, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I am just so useless that all I can do is curl up with a book and hope I get home from work early enough tomorrow that I can bang out a few papers.

But it is all OK, because the new Tamora Pierce book was waiting for me on the doorstep in an Amazon box. And of course, lest we forget: the cat was waiting for me deep, deep under the bed. I was so anxious about him the whole ride home. This is the problem with having a good imagination... you can picture all the horrible things that might happen in vivid detail. He wasn't waiting in the window, so I dropped all my stuff and went through the apartment calling his name. He had eaten about half of the massive Tupperware container of food I left him. There was no cat puke or other surprises anywhere. There was just no cat. But I knelt down and saw the glow of round eyes behind my sweater storage box. He wouldn't come out. I ended up reaching down the crack between the bed and the wall and poking him. Then he popped out the other side of the bed. But he was purring within five minutes, and he seems no worse for the wear.

My kittiest is sitting right beside me as I type. He is one contented ball of white fluff.