07.17.03 - 6:04 p.m.

Oh, sweet generic not-quite-Advil pilfered from the company First Aid box. It only took you a half hour, but you've swept my headache almost completely away. Now if you could only get rid of that tingle in my eyesockets? Thanks. You're a doll.

So there is an hour left of work. I already spent nearly an hour fighting the Headache of Doom. My computer froze twice. The pilates instructor never called back. Methinks a pedicure is in order tonight. In a perfect world, it would last until Leanne's wedding. In my DIY world, that is never a possibility.

Oh, I finally talked to the pilates guru. Thank god. I can go home and die happy now. In twenty minutes. And tomorrow I won't be fucking chained to the phone all day. And maybe Dan will not dream of massaging my feet and accidentally bonk me in the head while I'm dreaming of running through strange airports and being jet-lagged. I don't understand it either.

July 17. Still haven't learned how to play guitar. Or had a meal out on our deck. Failure.

There is an ad on our work cafe bulletin board for a boy cat, neutered and immunized, whose owner passed away and needs a new home. His name is Smokey. The name could be better, but he is the most adorable fuzzy guy, white belly with black blobs on his back and face. I want him so badly it hurts.

When my sister and I were young, Dad used to take us out to this barn where all these cats lived -- some friendly, some not so. I took a shine to a particular black-and-white spotted kitten with blue eyes whom I named Cutesy (I was young! Probably eight or nine!). I wanted to rescue Cutesy from her carefree farm life and make her all mine. Have her sleep on my bed. Frolic with her in the living room. Mom said no way. I begged. I cried. I left all sorts of notes in her bathroom vanity drawers with pictures of cats drawn on them. Who could resist a handwritten note with a drawing of a cat? Mom would have none of it.

Later I realized this farm was owned by someone Carol knew, and no doubt he was already sleeping with her when all this was occurring. No wonder Mom didn't want us to bring Cutesy home.

Cutesy eventually did leave the farm and became a housecat named Tigger in the home of family friends. Happy ending for her. Or maybe it was a him -- I'm not sure I ever knew.