It's 4:20 PM and I am desperately wanting out. I know it's only been my third week, but work is tedious even when we do have things to do, and at the end of the day, all I have to look forward to is the resident homeless man who I've chatted to once or twice, and the grueling hour ride home. I kind of want my summer back. I don't care if I don't have a job! You know what they say: "The best things in life are free!", which depending on whether your a pop-culture buff or not, you could follow up with "I want money." Ugh this world is a complex place. Particularly in a clean, white, air conditioned office where you are left to wonder if the pad-Thai your boss ordered for you counts as being culturally savvy or involved in foreign affairs.

ANY WHOODLE. Nothing ground-breaking or stellar has happened. Mostly dull things and the occasional skirmish with the beau, the sister, the friend, whatever. I did re-watch The Others last night. I found myself, once again, scared out of my wits. The thought of things creaking in an isolated, seemingly haunted big house is part one of the classical recipe for shitting your pants with fear. Not to mention Nicole Kidman (playing herself, mind you) is really eerie and unsettling. As are those pale, Vitamin C lacking children she owns. Shudder.

So to complete my lackluster life of a middle aged woman (which I am too young to lead, by the way...) I have to take care of a "girlfriend's" cats. That's right CATS (by the way don't you love how older women refer to other women friends as "girlfriends"? Also, the bathroom becomes the "powder room" or "the little girl's room" or something equally as infantile and equally as discomforting). There are two of them and I have to give them diabetes medication. Fuck! What have I become? I am so distraught, mostly because I'm looking forward to it and kind of like those cats. Let the cat lady remarks ensue, I GUESS.

And those are my thoughts thus far.