Flat on my belly in the mud

I am bluuuuuue. And yes, you can say that with a lyrical LeAnn Rimes yodel in your voice. It’s appropriate.

This is arguably the worst day I’ve had, in the worst week I’ve had, in the worst month I’ve had, in what hasn’t been too hot a year. An overdue mailing gave me a papercut on my tongue, a niggling fear for my job won’t go away, I just came home to find my angry roommate half-packed to leave, I still have no roommate applicants so next month might be seriously tight, I’m overdrawn, exhausted, and I just got a ticket for the light that I knocked out backing into someone’s stupid invisible truck.

Grr. A good 50% of these problems can firmly be laid at my dog, Boonie’s, door. If she wasn’t such a brat, I wouldn’t have lost my roommate, I wouldn’t have such a problem finding a new one, if I didn’t have her I could even be living in my own apartment in San Francisco right now, even if it was in the middle of the Tenderloin.

And yet what am I doing right now? Rubbing her tummy, tossing squeaky squirrels in a log for her, and laughing uncontrollably.