Feb. 5th, 2012

to see lawyers from another firm with whom my relationship is somewhat awkward - though one of them's helping me with a non-work project, the thing Monday is because they're defending an evil corporation we're suing for good reasons and for something like the nineteenth time. The Monday thing will take all day, will be primarily outdoors and most likely rained upon, and may require me to exercise diplomacy to prevent our clients from going for their throats and to prevent them from saying clueless and offensive things to our clients.

I am almost completely incapable of exercising diplomacy. I don't even have the low-level basic social skills. Asking how your mother is, etc. Don't have them. I play a Beast Mastery Hunter.

And this is actually the schedule for Tuesday and Wednesday, too.

Mom and Dad are out of town, and so in antisocial rebellion against this bullshit, I have barricaded myself in the house alone for the weekend. The way you do this, when the house's doors are mostly glass and the locks are all broken (this is the case), is to clean absolutely everything. This is always the first step; cleaning the house drives back chaos, thus holding off the heat death of the universe for the day, that being obviously the most important thing you want to keep out.

This accomplished, you turn the heat down and lights off for most of the house, putting a bean dish smelling strongly of garlic and bacon in the crockpot, that it may take firm and sole control of the room. Then you take the teapot to your room and burn some strong incense and turn on the space heater, leaving the phone out in the living room where you cannot easily reach it when it rings. These activities render the kitchen and the bedroom sovereign domains closed off from the rest of the world.

Having completed all of these preparations, I then read Sandman in its entirety while drinking two pots of tea. I need to find something else to read now.

When I came out to eat something at about 9:30 PM, I realized I hadn't given the animals their evening meal. I fed them breakfast just before dawn, because they woke me up then, because that's when they always wake Dad up for food. (They presumably have developed some sort of internal mechanism for waking themselves up at that particular infuriating time.) But they didn't come to get me at 4:00 PM, which is generally when Dad performs their Pavlovian afternoon ritual of pulling down the driveway, opening the door, turning on the lights, and feeding them. I had had the lights all out, and hadn't left or re-entered the house. I was the bringer of darkness, and had disrupted the flow of time. They didn't even act hungry when I fed them; it was not yet time for that.

I think I'm going to read Vorkosigan slash fanfiction now. Monday cannot stop me.

(I'm aware that it doesn't sound that way, but I have not actually consumed the small quantity of box wine sitting on the kitchen shelf yet. I do intend to do so shortly so that I can get to sleep; I've had too much tea today.)

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