Worked until 22:30. Not because I needed to or even because I wanted to but because I could. (Everyone else went home early.)
Came home to a party. No not a revolutionary cadre, a soirée. Was uncharacteristically pleasant which was rewarded with the offer of communal beer that I don't take advantage of opting instead to eat some rice cakes and pass out with the TV on.
Wake up at some wretched hour needing to piss which has been going on for the last week of my insomnia. Find the cabinet I use in the bathroom has been topped by 5 ersatz silver goblets and festooned with the following items:
An old catalog (like 1940s old) page for women's lingerie.
A Satanist illumination.
A vivid depiction of Kali victorious over Shiva.
I don't bother trying to understand why this happened. Not because I don't care, but because it's not that interesting of a mystery. (Not like the fun size Reese's wrapper that was on the porch yesterday. Now why that was there was definitely interesting.)
While taking a shower I think about the last cat I lived with. I think about the last weekend he was alive. How he had stroked out and should have been euthanized but the person I was living with couldn't deal with that and instead of being an adult and telling them to fuck off I indulged their pathetic emotional paralysis. I think about how that Friday night I brought home a banker's box of files and solved an occupational mystery that had stumped the office testing hypothesis after hypothesis instead of being around the cat. I ruminate on how much I really, really hate Proust.
