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Today I spilled the compost on the floor. If you think that this is the very worst kind of trash to spill all over a braided carpet you are thinking exactly what I thought initially.

I discovered to my surprise and relief however that compost is actually pretty ok to spill all over the floor as far as floor covering trash spillage goes; because it’s basically a pickling casserole of totally pure ingredients, it just feels clean and mushy like the pulp of a super ripe peach, and it smells like an overripe version of the same. I scooped it all up and threw the rug in the wash and I walked back in vicious triumph at how cool and calm and efficient I was in handling everything, because I am pretty sure the cats made it happen.

The cats are busy hating me because I gave them their flea treatment this morning, which is basically about a teaspoonful of nasty greasy nail polish smelling clear slime. I understand their violent distaste for it but I feel that although passionate it does not really exceed my own disinclination for fleas, so…they hate me for awhile every month.

I bought them a new cat tree because every time they are mad at me (which is frequently) they run straight to their cat tree and scratch it savagely like it was my very offensive face. It was basically in shreds from the top all the way down. The new cat tree is much prettier and has a tetherball which I personally think would be awesome and engaging, and it also came with a tiny ziploc of dried catnip to sprinkle on itself. Very fancy.

 

This is them being all grateful and everything.

 

 

 

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real nowhere man

September 3, 2011

Let me just say that a workplace with beer is great.

I am waiting to see what my Friday evening is going to look like, whether or not my boss and I will be going to a meetup, and she is in a meeting right now and I am seriously out of even the most ridiculous busywork to do (that I am able to think of, see maybe: beer) so here I am with the blog post.

I am addicted to Pink Floyd right now. I have a Pink Floyd pandora, and it is all I ever listen to and I regulate it mercilessly. No electric guitar? Fuck you. Whiny voice? Fuck you. Whiny lyrics? Fuck you. It is all about soul soaring melt your brain down into your heart riffs of greatness right now, and it has been for about two months now and from all appearances looks like continuing unchecked unless some sort of variety is accidentally and from an outside force introduced. It’s just all I want, you know? I need something to rock heavily but not weigh heavily; I need something that contains sadness without conveying sadness, something that lifts the spirits without recognizing the attendant gravity.

I am going to this meeting now.

Farewell and much love from the Floyd.

I am a