The Stars and the Cookie Jar

The zipper on my jacket broke.

I had to take one of my prescription decongestants to get my eyes to stop feeling furry (I'm rationing, as I have no health insurance for three weeks).

The apartment was so nice and clean a week ago and is starting to look blitzed again and it's nobody's fault, it's just the holiday accumulation of boxes and bags.

I got a 'summons' from Arlington County to pay taxes on a car that doesn't exist.

I couldn't find the stamps to mail the 'summons' back to them right there and then.

The tailors' wanted $65 to do alterations on N's evening dress. The estimate this morning, before we made an extra post-work trip to bring the dress in to the tailors', was SEVEN dollars.

I didn't do any laundry.

I broke down crying for no real reason except the dread that my mother, who has just lost her job of fifteen years and so has nothing to do, will show up at our door and it will all end in the police being called. Fa la la la la. I know that's the real issue here -- that I don't want to deal with my mother and the surety of her eventual attempt at parasitism -- but it's making my life suck.

I didn't do any laundry.

But lunamystic has the haunch of a dessicated vampire pig in her fridge, and its dessicated vampire pig brethren will soon come rustling and rootling through the fallen leaves in the dark, and they will be tasty.*

*Where dessicated vampire pig = Virginia ham.