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Monday, Sept. 16, 2002 / 1:18 p.m. ~Thinking of a Warm and Fluffy Tail Wrapped Around~ She does this thing where she walks up to me and wraps her tail around my leg. Bare-legged in the kitchen with a fluffy tail wrapped around me feels good, and she stands there, in full control of where that tail goes, what it does, around what it wraps. When I take long baths she sits on the edge of the tub, watches me play with bubbles, sometimes reaches in to grab a finger poking up at her through a particularly large bubble structure, her tail on the water side of the tub, flirting with disaster. It dips on occasion and I think she wants it to, I recognize she has no sensation in the tip, she can't feel the water as it creeps farther up, and she could hold it there, it could absorb water like a sponge and how long before she'd know? Fluffy tail wrapped around my bare legs as I make coffee first thing in the morning, this is one of the best things about my life. It's 10:35 a.m., I'm at work. I've yet to hear my phone ring� okay, it has yet to ring. I think the phones are being worked upon, again, and why they wait until we're here, ready to answer, ready to work, to work on them� is beyond me. Nice not to come in on Monday morning to hear Lulu and her yakking, but Kukla has taken her place, and Laverne, and Penelope, and Penelope's gospel music is just too loud, so I listen to Rolling Stones' "Some Girls" on the Walkman, think how I can't possibly afford the $111 to see them next month. Not if I want a new tattoo, or two, not if I'm going to the Greek Fest, it just can't happen. I'd like to, I think, see them this once, for this quite possibly last opportunity, but the ticket prices are as follows: $53 (sold out), $93 (plus Ticketbastard charges = $111) or $303 for the field. Can you imagine???? $303?! (and that's not including extra charges) I've been handed a pile of work to distribute, so I must distribute. Phones came back on, 11:10ish, and every call is disconnected. Say the spiel (I always thought it was 'schpiel', but MS Word says otherwise) and it hangs up. Enter it as a 'hangup - other'. Whee. My fingers are cold, my hair looks fabulous (I'm flirting with the idea of letting it grow really long, again�), I'm tired, my hose-socks fall down constantly - for the first time in months I'm not wearing Birks to work. I looked out the window and saw gray and wet and decided to wear closed shoes. I asked Penelope to turn down her music, and I think it's not gospel, it's more like Celine Dion, equally offensive. I was so polite she thanked me. Success. Tired. Five hours sleep? I want to go home, I want to cuddle with the girls, get back in bed, watch movies, read, it's cold here, and I'm tired of being hung up on. Oh, one more quick thing, I was reading my diary entries from one year ago and if you have any doubt at all how I feel/felt about the events of September 11,2001 (did I?, have doubts?), well, read this. I was consumed with it for a while there. Defense mechanisms had me shut it out as best I could. And� "Shattered" is one of my very, very favoritest Rolling Stones songs. Cost of the War in Iraq
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