Find Me at The Matinee, The Dark of the Matinee

So, yeah. This week wanted to kill me. But once again, I'm left standing. My room apparently shows all wounds though. It certainly looks like a battleground.

I'll clean this weekend. I think.

But a breakdown of the issues:

1) Roommate: Well, Travis has found a new place to crash. We're meeting Potential Roommate #1 on Saturday.

Derek: I couldn't understand her. Her phone was cutting out and she has a very heavy British accent.

Me: Luckily, I speak British.

Also, as long as this chick can write checks that clear, I don't really care if we can't understand her.

2) Health Stuff: Well, that's all taken care of. I'm as good as new. And all the damage I've been inflicting on myself emotionally at least didn't translate physically as well. Which is lucky, considering I fucked guys named Sleazy and Junebug. I blush with shame just thinking about it.

Oh well. Onward and upward, I suppose.

3) Work: Well, Fed-Ex kinda screwed us. But at least it wasn't my fault. And at least it's Friday. So I'm relieved of the stress for two days. And we got all the high priority stuff done a day early, so go us!

4) Hurricane of Doom: Well, it's not looking as bad. And Gary is safe and secure. And wonder of all wonders, Amy couldn't get out of Houston and had to bail to Kingwood. The Prodigal Daughter returned after much absence and heartache on Mom and Gary's part. Nothing like an Act of God to get your daughter to finally reach out. She and her two cats are now in Kingwood, where they'll ride it out together. I wish we had cameras in there. Because that SO sounds like a set-up to a wrenching family drama that would get nominated for Oscars and such. I think it won the Venice Film Festival. Oh wait, no. The one about the gay cowboys did.

Time to relax. Until the next set of tragedies. But if you can't enjoy the calm before the storm, well then, you might as well live in Louisiana or Florida or Texas.

Hold strong, Texas. You weren't your own country for nothin'.