it's my party
i spent my birthday wallowing in shit. figurative shit. when i found myself a work widow and felt completely isolated by my recent writing schedule i threw myself a pity party.
oh, and the end of the world might have influenced my grief just a wee bit.
the other 364.25 days a year i feel obliged to be optimistic and keep up the fight. so as a treat to myself i gave myself one whole day to just wallow in despair.
my poor husband.
and, as if his work demands didn't depress me enough, i had to accompany him to a taping of a true piece of shit that night. got the whole studio-audience-as-cattle treatment and all -- after waiting for hours to be allowed to attend the craptacular fiasco.
while waiting in the 100+ degree weather i watched as a little bird flew by and landed in a nest in the eves above my head.
and it took me awhile -- but i had plenty o time, just sitting there, sweating, waiting to be herded in to see a bunch of crappy jokes with NO FUCKING PUNCH LINES -- so i kept looking at that thing hanging down next to my little bird friend's nest.
this is a closer look
as if i wasn't already suicidal. i just kept imagining my bird friend watching as his/her mate hung there by some kind of vine or something, thrashing away until weakly giving in to...
somebody please shoot me!
the good news is my passport is on its way... i finally got some air conditioning of sorts so the cats have stopped panting... i bought my tickets for crawford... my script is almost done...
it's not much but i have to get it up again so...
at least the following post/prediction hasn't come true... yet. with omens like i've seen, i fear what really is a-brewing...