I regret to inform you that the test you requested be signed and returned was accidentally placed in the trash. When I went to retrieve it, I found it covered with coffee grounds, paper towels that were used to clean poop out of a puppy cage and a note which reads, “Are those mouse droppings inside this cabinet, because I WILL DIE!!”
I am assuming you would rather it remain in the garbage, but please advise.
Anyone want to guess whose puppy ran across the neighbor’s freshly tarred driveway?
Every Sunday at church I reach for him during the sign of peace. As I simultaneously shake his hand and lean over to kiss the top of his head I remind him to look people in the eye when he says, “Peace be with you.” It’s not necessarily something that comes naturally to him.
There are times, of course, when he will sit and stare intently at my face as we discuss the day’s events. Some evenings he will sit on my lap and I’ll tell him stories and he’ll look at me so closely that I can count his freckles.
But, more often than not, when replying to someone he quickly glances away as he says, “Thanks” or “Bye.” Eye contact is not his strong suit.
Well, with humans anyway.
I burst into tears at a birthday party last night.
Either this means I have to increase my Zoloft again, I’m really upset about my friend turning 40, or I am extremely worn out. I’m going to go with the latter, though I am almost 43 so I may be secretly bitter about my young friend.
My husband and I used to work with a guy whose accent made him say, ‘tired’ like ‘tarred’. Folks, I’m tarred. Really. It’s like I’m swimming in the hot, thick, black goo that we coat our driveway with. I’ve been out of town four weekends out of the last six, I just came out of the second busiest part of my work year and am heading like a speeding bullet into the busiest, and who can forget this?
There has been so much more going on that I won’t list here, but I literally don’t even know what day it is; I sent a company-wide email today declaring that it was Monday. For your information, and mine, it’s Tuesday. I think.
So, if you see me and I look like a zombie it’s because I am. Please be gentle with me, give me a pat on the back, tell me it will be okay, that I’m doing a good job in the midst of this chaos, and for CRYING OUT LOUD buy me a drink and send me to bed. I’m begging you.
Even if I can’t do it as cute as that puppy can.