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Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 / 6:39 p.m. ~Like Betwixt Jack Sprat and His Amour, She Licked the Platter Clean~ Maybe it's just me, but I really don't think it would hurt too much for Dan Rather to actually mention the names of the soldiers who died today, and for the production staff to put their photos on screen for a second or two. It's just a measly two who died this day. How hard could it be? Why aren't soldiers humans? Ah well. Testament to my slovenly habits of late, Norman decided she wanted to help with the dishes, more specifically the pots and pans. I should've known better, I really should've, but I left my 10 inch skillet, the wonderful nonstick pan I use all the time to toss things together, dirty, on the stove. Just left it there. I never do that, I always put it on the counter by the sink, because I know she gets up on the counters by the stove, when I'm not looking. A few times I've been in the living room, seen her shadow on the counter, called out to her and heard her jump. But it's been a while, and I wasn't thinking, or I was, but I was feeling too lazy, too tired, to move it. Tonight I came home from work, and was considering using it again, this favorite pan of mine, to reheat my leftovers, when I noticed it was clean, er, 'clean'. Cleaned, by Norman's tongue. I didn't do that, I didn't wipe it down. Last night it held some Italian sausage and 'shrooms and squash and added baby spinach, and after I removed said contents it held the greasy remains. Mmmmm, yummy, to a cat. I guess. I can't believe I let that happen. It's too funny, really. But I appreciate her making the effort to 'clean up'. Thanks, Norm. Otherwise, I have nothing today. I've been sort of tired, sort of low, depressed, and I very nearly had a nervous breakdown on the job when I had to field one stupid question after another when half our team went to lunch. The remaining half, the 9 to 6ers, got slammed by calls, and it was pure hell. No one understands anything, and the constant attempt to explain it all is more than just taxing, it's draining, and when it comes rapid fire like that, and there is no outlet, no relief, well, yes, I almost lose it. Almost. Now, laundry, maybe washing those dishes that sit still, and "Gilmore Girls", probably the Blues show on PBS, part 3 tonight. I don't know, I just want to curl up and disappear. Or be transported, somewhere, anywhere but in my life as it is now. I want positive change, I do, but I'm not making it happen. I'm just stuck in the same spot. I found out today that a guy at work lives in this apartment complex. He 'stays' here. And he saw my car, so he asked if I 'stay' here too. He has roaches, he says, and there are 'specials' at other complexes closer to work, so he is going to move in November. To think we could have been ride-sharing all this time... but do we have the same schedule? Not sure. And two of my town's hockey team's players were in a horrible car crash last night. A Ferrari joy ride, 80 mph in a 35, or possibly 40, gone awry. Hit an apartment wall, or gate, tore the car in half, ejected them, one has broken jaw now, one has smashed skull. Both are alive, but in pain, one critical. And our opening night is just a week away, I believe. Ah, to be young with too much money, and a loose grip on the steering wheel. Must hold on tightly, both hands. Cost of the War in Iraq
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