I’m quite popular this morning at the office, with my leftover treats from last night’s dinner. The women exclaim and moan with delight as they inhale the peach gallet (that’s gay for pie-cobbler-thingy). Dinner (the part that didn’t consist of mushrooms, asparagus or weird creamy sauce - I think they called it hollandaise) was delicious! And dessert, my GOD. Yummy! We had a good time, talking and watching M.s. cook. Wendy is a wonderful woman.

Ollie stopped by, showed off his new rock-a-billy hottie-boy “do”, and hung out for a bit, sampled the yumminess, shared in conversation. I do have a confession to make, though. At times, I was unbelievably bored. I don’t do well with lulls when I’m low on energy. Sitting, standing, doing nothing, idle conversation, watching someone go through the motions of preparing amazing dishes, I felt bored! I thought, I want to read. I want to watch TV. I want to write. I want to doodle, anything to keep my hands and mind occupied, focused, busy without having to do too much, without having to think too much. I want to be entertained. I wondered what that meant. Is it true what M.s. says? That I’m a victim of a generation’s short-attention span? Or was I just tired and sick and craving a horizontal position and a rest for my throat?

Once I was engaged and on a subject, it was wonderful, something I enjoy anyway and love to do, interact with others. But in those intermittent quiet moments, I desperately looked for an excuse to run away and hide under the covers. Me, not a people-person? Unheard of. Not really. Spider Monkey used to call these my “pensive moments” -- those times when we lived in L.A. and I would just have to disappear, be alone, not deal with any people. I haven’t really had many of those lately, perhaps because it’s easy and comfortable, like being alone is, with M.s. Anyway, just sharing the workings of my mind. Good or bad, it’s what went through my head at the time. According to Ollie, though, there IS NO Good or bad. I like that idea, for obvious reasons.

Dad gets home tonight. I have guilt over the shit-hole of a mess that our place is at this moment, but I need to get over it, he says it doesn’t matter. We’ll get everything done, so why feel that pressing, overwhelming feeling? I’m going to go home after my doctor’s appointment - oh, that’s right, I didn’t mention that. I’m dragging my ass to the doctor this afternoon, to make sure there’s not a fucking alien growing in my sinus cavities. So after the appointment, I’m going home and I’m going to sleep. None of this cleaning crap I told myself I’d do, no. Just sleep. Lay with my cats and zonk out until the Dad comes home.

That way, I’ll have plenty of energy for all the stuff I want to do this weekend. Man, I am HORMONAL.

-Barbarella

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