There’s something depressing about working late on a Friday. 

Any day, really. 

And I’m talking past-dusk late. I ain’t in the 4:59 or even the 6:59 club. 

It makes me think back to all my single years when my cats were alone … I needed a thousand sets of sheets and pairs of skivvies because I never had time for laundry … and I declined or ignored requests to hang out because, work. 

I thought of that as I fought with my PC most of the day and week. And as I am bailing on another outing tonight I honestly didn’t bother fully committing to in the first place.  As I broke two keys on my personal laptop because I was beating on it in frustration over the remote machine. 

At least when I was younger, I should have gone out more. Now mom doesn’t want me leaving the house, and I’m so buggy-eyed tired that I don’t have it in me to be upset anymore. 

There was construction upstairs all day. Jackhammers ahoy. And Fuckhead McGillicuddy (my newest name for him) will no doubt take his nap now and bounce off the walls all night. 

I remind myself that I was not put on this earth for all this monkey business. But what if I was? What if my small tastes of power and joy and love are all I get?

In “Scandal” last night, Liv learned to live without her power. It sucked. She found a way to get it back. You can’t forget the taste of it once you’ve had it. And being at the mercy of others’ is about as appealing as death. 

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