Jagged little pill-popper

Have you ever broken a fingernail, and it’s so deep into the “meat” of the nail that you can’t cut it off? Sure, you can trim around it, but there’s always that piece that hangs precariously — ready to catch onto a loose piece of clothing and snag the delicate fabric — until you finally say “the hell with it” and cut it and try not to whimper in pain?

Yeah, it’s been like that here for a little while now.

I’m happy to say I have custody of my fur-nephew starting today and through the weekend. That’s nice.

I’m happy to say that after three Halloween parties, I wake up on All Saint’s Day and fly to Mexico. You know, where they’re beheading Americans at the border. Whee! Although I highly doubt that the exclusive four-star hotel on the peninsula has any rogue gang-bangers who are out to get the gringos.

My hot water tank exploded last night. I have to admit, the UEOEH cleaned up the mess while I was having my usual Wednesday night date with Lady L at our favorite restaurant. (These dates save our sanity. As does the grilled brie in honey butter.)

There’s no hot water right now, so staying at George’s house couldn’t have come a moment too soon. And it’s pretty damn ironic that I am going to the Porn Palace for a hot shower, with its 24-gallon hot water tank that gives you a warm shower for three minutes on a good day!

I’m kind of “feh” right now about everything. I’m also struggling as a McManager. All the experts say to spend the most time and effort on your stars. And yet, it always seems to end up the other way around — the stars are off on their own because your hands are too full with everything/everyone else.

And then former stars (like myself) are just plain unmotivated to do the mounting challenges in front of them. I have a mile-long to-do list, but when you’re told not to focus on details and then a detail (or 10) gets fucked up, it’s kind of frustrating.

A friend just got her dream job. And I am SO HAPPY for her. I’m thrilled to know that those exist. And it makes me vacillate between “I can do this for the rest of my life” and “How much longer till it’s been a year?” And what is my dream job?

I’d be perfectly happy to write my novels on the side again, without the UEOEH hovering all the time. (And Lady L can confirm, the woman HOVERS.) I feel like other than my escapes (whether to our favorite restaurant or our favorite cities) with Lady L, plus the occasional fur-nephew-sitting when she’s out of town, there’s nothing I do that stokes the creative fires.

Oh well. At least I don’t have 10 kids, a mortgage (or a foreclosure) and a deadbeat husband. There is something to be said for, if not having the stimulation I seek, then not having a level of aggravation I didn’t bargain for, beyond what’s already there.

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