damn that Wally Lamb...

That damn fart of a writer made me cry after all. I finished She's Come Undone last night. I was being dragged down by the whole thing quite frankly, and wanted to get it over with. Then, when I finished, I'll be damned if I wasn't glad I'd read it. That Lamb pulled the wool over my eyes. Shithead.

Anyway, Rooney is starting to plump up a little since we put him on soft cat food, which makes mama kitty very happy. Baxter is due back for a thyroid test and Sadie is due back for a liver enzyme check. Sheesh, I wish I had bought pet insurance when they were younger.

I've been down lately, hating my job, hating being broke, hating everything happening to Dolores Price in that book. Today, I feel like I might have popped off a big barnacle on my ever-crusty exterior. I'm just a tad lighter, a tad happier; maybe on the upswing. I've been writing a lot, too - writing without being so judgmental, writing bits and pieces of fiction, ripping scabs off with some caustic poetry - just getting stuff down. It's good to get things out.