My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Properties of Invisibility


An entry with a whole lotta nothing.

A postscript to my 1988 entry: I forgot to mention that this was the year I "went veggie" and stopped smoking (August 2, to be exact). Perhaps I'll write more on that later.

Dusty informed me on Friday that Rocky and Bullwinkle and Bob Dylan come from the same place. She's right. They all hail from the great, underrated state of Minnesota. She's no short stack, that Dusty.

The FreshHell Household celebrated Mozart's birthday this past weekend by playing….lots of Mozart. On record albums. Doing it old school, which seems fitting, don't you think? Red and Dusty got their groove on to Amadeus' non-rocking tunes and there was much semi-naked frolicking. Mainly because Red has learned how to undress herself and Dusty hates to be left out of things when nudity is that thing. Or whatever the hell I'm trying to say.

God, my brain is fried. Today I had a semi-impromptu performance review (my own fault) because tomorrow is my boss's last day. It's my own fault (please don't tell him) because, since he was leaving, I asked the HR person, two weeks ago, who would be doing my performance review in April since chances were slim we'd have a new VP by then. She didn't know (!!!! This situation has never come up before???) and would get back to me. Then, a few days later, she asked my boss to do performance reviews on all his direct reports before he leaves. In a week. So, oops? Anyway, I passed with flying colors and if I'm super extra lucky, should get a 3% raise in July or September or sometime in the far distant future. How WILL I spend all that money? VISA payments probably. More on that fine institution later.

Early this morning, I had a dream in which 1) I was waiting in a room full of people to interview for some strange sales job and discovered that 2) I also had a paper due the next day for a class I'd forgotten I was taking. The theme was beauty. Something to the tune of nature versus nurture and princesses that are princesses before they marry versus those who become princesses because they marry a prince. Needless to say, I was making notes for the paper while waiting for the interview. I'd nailed down what I was going to talk about and was putting the fairy tale princesses in order: Snow White, Cinderella – princesses by marriage. Sleeping Beauty, Ariel – princesses by birth. All I had to do was get home and type it up. Then the alarm went off.

Now, gee, why would I be dreaming of those damned Evil Women?

I can't even seem to escape them in my sleep. Sigh.

The Dusty Conversation for Monday, January 30 (we drive off into thick fog):

"I can see the sun poking through the trees!"
"The fog should dissipate soon. It'll be a nice day."
"Is there ever a half-sun?" [Like the moon.]
"How come?"
"Because the sun's too big and too far away. The earth creates a shadow on the moon over the course of a month as it rotates, which is why it looks like it's disappearing and reappearing." [At least, I think that's what happens. I was driving and couldn't fact check. My science knowledge is less than a fourth graders.]
"What if you didn't have a shadow?"
"You'd have to be invisible, I guess, to not have a shadow." [We don't discuss vampires. Only zombies.]
"Can you see people if you're invisible?"
"Yeah, they just can't see you."
"It's like you're your own spy!"
"Yeah. Just like that."

Dusty rules.

Dusty also starts ballet and tap class on Wednesday. My mother has agreed to pay for the lessons, which is a very good thing because I'd hate to have to sell an organ (I think my uterus has been spoken for but my ovaries are up for grabs. Any takers?) to pay for them. She's been waiting a year for this and the time has come. Because I got zero advance notice of the start date (the dance teacher brought the forms by the daycare on Friday – thanks lady!), we had to go to Target asap and get all the dance necessities: two different pairs of shoes, leotard, tights, etc. I had no money so, thank you VISA for saving my ass. What would I do without you?

Don't answer that.


3:58 p.m. ::
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