Good day, Less-good day

I know that if this is all I have to complain about, my life is pretty darned good.

The good day: Saturday, March 25, 2006

6:45 AM - Sun is coming in the window. Wake up, stretch, snuggle back under the blankets.

7:00 AM - Clock radio comes on to CBC. Weather forecast is good. Cat says prrrt! and comes to snuggle with me. She wants breakfast but will settle for petting.

8:00 AM - Bladder and cat have gotten insistent enough that I get up. Feed cat, eat breakfast, drink tea, listen to CBC.

8:30 - 10:30 - Drink tea. Listen to CBC. Pet Cat. Brush Cat. Play with Cat. Drink tea.

10:30 - Sofa that I ordered back in January delivered without any problems.

11:00 - Grocery shopping. The produce had been looking lacklustre the last few weeks, but this week it's good again.

1:30 - Assorted housework

6:00 - Battlestar Galactica with S.

8:00 - Put on Oilers jersey, go to pub, watch game. Eat pizza and wings. Drink beer.

11:00 - Oilers win. Stagger home singing Ole, Ole-ole-ole

Less-good day: Tuesday, March 28, 2006

2:00AM - Kitty has been galloping up and down the hall playing with her ball since midnight, but now she's pushed it under the fridge. She meows piteously until I get up and fish it out.

3:00AM - repeat

5:30AM - it's not pitch dark out any more, and Kitty decides it's time for breakfast NOW. I burrow under the covers to avoid her toe-biting persuasion, and get back to sleep by 6:30ish.

7:00AM - clock radio goes off. Something is wrong and there's a loud buzz that almost drowns out the voices. Hit snooze.

7:10AM - feed cat. Eat breakfast. Try to listen to the radio but the radio in the living room, but it's even worse than the one in my bedroom.

7:50AM - leave for work. Work isn't bad.

5:30PM - get home from work. Try to put on Disk Drive. CBC FM isn't working any better than CBC AM was in the morning. All non-CBC stations seem to be working fine.

6:20PM - I'm tired and grouchy but S. and I go to the gym anyway. When I change into my gym clothes, I discover the pants I brought aren't the pants I thought they were, and they have a huge hole in the crotch. My panties are zebra-striped so there's no way they'll blend with the black pants. S. promises to watch my six and let me know if the panties make an appearance.

8:00PM - workout salvaged, for the most part. S. assures me my panties were never visible. However I went too hard and did something to my shoulder, and it hurts enough that I have trouble shampooing my hair.

8:30PM - go for dinner, watch the game. S. informs me that while he never saw the hole in my pants, they were worn so thin that he could see the zebra pattern in places anyway. Oilers lose.

Yeah, call me a blinkin waaahmbulance.