Woe is Moses

I'd be a wee bit downtrodden too if I were the one with diabetes and only three legs. Extremities and limbs are never really supposed to come in odd numbers. Except 1, sometimes.

In spite of vicious allergies, I've become rather fond of the feline, my regular cat-sittee (meaning I cat-sit him, not sit on him). I also get to stay in his house when his human family is away.

If anyone is in need of some woe these days, I'm carrying extra. Not even a brief defiance of gravity and sanity, in the form of flying across a lake on waterskis before tumbling, stone-skip style, across the surface and emerging cluelessly bereft of bathing suit, could knock the woe out of me. Dealing with my immediate and eventual future could be the source of it. More accurately, dealing with the desire to deal with said future in spite of a strong conflicting desire to crawl under my bed and wait out the suspence of my no-so-early twenties, of not having any money, of being scared to try and fail, of getting older, of becoming who I am in spite of myself.

Forgive my vagueness of late... it'll all come out in the wash, and once it does it'll all go up on the blog, I reckon.

Meanwhile, it's my last night in a house with AC for a while, and I have an exciting date with Benedryl.