tranquility after the storm

Think I might’ve had better birthdays in the history thereof.
Not that anything bad happened or that my friends and family gave me tons of love, not at all.
It started with me leaving my laptop behind, and arriving at work sans machine.
I’ve never done this before – my and PC practically sleep together. And frankly, we might as well. But that’s neither here nor there.

So ended up using my old one that is riddled with viri, and eats up an entire spreadsheet, just unannounced. After plotting away at it cursing Excel to Hell, for 3 hours.

Not. Fucking. Cool.

But that made me a bit ‘Oh my fuck, I’m losing my memory,’ and started off the day doubting my longterm memory banks and concerned whether I’m turning into Towlie from Southpark

. Then the lesbian’s cat shat on my bonnet.
Laid something full of hair onto my bonnet, and only noticed this big brown (not to mention furry – fuck!) piece of excrement attached to it once I had parked. I had to pick it off with a rock.

If anything solidified me not getting a cat, this was definitely it.

It was Monday. Mondays are satanic days.

It can be this close. This close. To the next thing you know you’re wailing over a bottle of Savanna. Worrying meanwhile, whether you’ll be hit by a stray bullet because your neighbourhood was a gangsta-off the night before.

Either way, birthdays are emotional for me. I get sad. Simple as that.

Luckily the next one’s only in a year’s time.

And I have French tonight. Yay.