Andare, Partire, Tornare

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I'm married, what's with this "do I call him or not" crap?

So despite his seeming excitement to get in touch with me, my uncle hasn't called. Must be those wacky tuba player peers of his, keeping him up at all hours with their "see if you can chug all the beer out of this tuba!" games and nude uphonium wrestling and wacky stunts like pantsing the entire brass section of the Kennedy Center house orchestra. I'm not sure if I want to call him, although it looks like the only day we'll be able to get together is tomorrow, and that day is pretty darn busy for me, what with Boop's 18th birthday, and that whole dog-washing thing that I call a job.

I think my face is chapping. When I walk over to 14th street to wait for a slug pickup, I usually have to stand for a while, and the place is a fucking windtunnel. Yesterday was the coldest day we've had yet, and I had a sweater, a blazer, a fleecie, a coat, and my double-layer wool cape, plus a hat and two scarves, and I was still a popsicle by the time a car showed up. The wind just seeps into every crevice and bites you. So tonight, I have adopted the very chic look of vaseline smeared on my face. Bad for the pores, yes - but it'll save my face from becomming a featureless orb of chapped nastiness. Bleah.

This is a three payday month, which is naturally why Bemo's Bonneville decided it needed to pop a leak in some hose that is impossible to reach without dismantling some vital part of the car...I don't know, the engine or fuel pump or some crap like that. So, naturally, I'm sure it will cost a signifigant portion of the extra paycheck. Gnnrgh. I need to think about trading the Neon in, but that would mean once again having a car payment, which would not be really great.

On the other hand, the AAM visit went relatively smoothly, and they seemed to really be impressed by our new storage areas. I felt so tickled that they liked the method I used in our quilt storage area to identify the boxes - they pointed that out particularly. Sometimes it's not so bad being a grown-up after all.

8:35 p.m. - 2003-01-24

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