'kir' is a hoit de toit term for champagne cocktail

Aching man-testicles, do I have a crazy weekend ahead of me.

Too many kir royales with Klo last night, and too much wine at a birthday party.

I have a headache that feels like the continents are splitting again.

I wonder if the people I dream about dream about me. Why do my dreams feel so real and so hectic?

I have a wedding stuff this whole weekend, and perhaps, a coma on Sunday that I need to prepare for.

Jeepers, definitely had one too many of those kir guys with the formidable Klo last night and fuck does it hurt this morning. How did it happen? I wasn't meant to phuza. One minute we're talking; the next we're drunk. It all just happened so quickly.

Klo and I had a conversation I never thought I’d ever have, ever, in my life, ever.

She decided, we decided, over a few kirs – those bloody kirs – that I was going to get a cat.

ME. A Cat. Never

I can’t get a dog – and that’s what I want. And I’m not sure about a cat because a cat is not like a dog, has long hair, smells bad, has smelly piss, is all cold and hectic and not like a dog, is very Mrs McClusky on Wisteria Lane, and the feline is petulant and offish. But. It’s more feasible than a dog.

Are you insane? Have you been smoking crack off the rear-end of Mitterand?

I’m a dog bird through and through. Have books about how cool dogs are, everywhere.
Dog Is God Backwards, being one. And for ages I’ve been pining for a Staffie /Dobermann/ Boxer. How cool, and I’d call it Dennis and we’d go for walks everyday!

But.
1) I travel a lot
2) I don’t have a garden, and live in a small flat
3) So therefore can’t.
4) And that’s just the reality of the situation.

Come. On. Dogs are cool. And sweet and lovely – cats are…hairy and independent.

If I ever got a cat, it would have to be like a dog. It would have to be a dog in a cat’s body.

And that is surely not possible. I’ve been told a Burmese. They’re friend-lier. I’d need a manual. Where does one even start. The Whiskas aisle?

My arms hurt. Fuck those champagne cocktails.

But seriously. Seriously? I do not like cats. But maybe if it’s MY cat, then maybe I would. Like people that hate other children who love only their own.

And they all have their own personalities. My last Staffie, Ombre, lives with my Dad. He swims everyday and follows my Dad around everywhere. Dad gives him a better life than I would – he really really is better off.

Car rides around town, beach, book shop, you name it, he follows my Dad like his namesake (‘Shadow’ in French). I miss him – he certainly has oodles of personality. Mirrors my father in every way.

Stop. That’s for one day, I just can’t now – for the dog’s sake.

Besides I travel every couple of months, so what, if I got a dog, I put it in the kennels? Every few months? That’s heartbreaking.

End of the day, I unfortunately just don’t have the lifestyle for a pet. Location, living, travelling-wise.

I will think about whether I really really want a pet after my Euro trip, Not before. If I’m worried about the responsibility/looking after/lifestyle thereof, of a pet now, there’s no chance I’ll be getting a pet post-trip. Not after getting absorbed into that world.

For now, my head hurts and have mere hours to pull myself together for a wedding this afternoon.