|Letter to Third Paries v12
||[Apr. 30th, 2014|09:59 am]
Dear Work, I've been here for six and a half years now. I'm really grateful for the award, really, I am. But that you spelled my name wrong on the award...I dunno, kind of takes some of the shine off of it.
Dear Fluorescent bulb above my head, Hey, could you blink while I'm looking at you and not wait until I've finally lowered my head to get back to work? You're making me nuts. And my neck hurts from trying to catch you. Although blinking when I blink? Clever bulb.
Dear Facebook, in the however many years I've been on you, have I ever played a game? No, no, I haven't. As a matter of fact, I've spent a significant amount of time blocking other people and their games from my feed. Refusing invitations. Yet daily, you suggest games I might like. I don't expletive LIKE games (unless they're in person and face to face), so put that in your damn algorithm and smoke it! Also, seriously, remember that I would PAY to be able to tweak my feed to block the ten thousand so-and-so just wished you-know-who "Happy Birthday" messages that show up on my feed every day. Your stocks are falling...I'm just saying you should think about that.
Dear Montgomery County, I'm pleased to tell you that despite all of this rain, my basement is bone dry. No more water seeping up from the foundation, no water just shooting out of the sides of the walls like some kind of crazy concealed jet spray. Ever since you fixed the storm drain and put curbs on the street one over, not a single flood! But now I'm pretty damn bitter about the days I've spent shop-vac'cing the basement, the mold remediation, the ruined possessions, the need to invest in plastic shelving and ten thousand plastic bins to keep everything in. Because if you'd just fixed it when it needed it...
Alternatively, there's actually a nascent sinkhole underneath my house, and THAT'S where all the water is going. Which might explain last night's nightmares.
Although those nightmares might also be explained by having three cats that insist on sleeping on the bed with me, one who randomly sneezes on me, one who sneaks up to lie on my head, which would be fine, if only he didn't keep sticking his foot in my eye, and another one that looms over me and purrs HARD, inches from my face. It's like sleeping with the low rent version of the Seven Dwarves.