April 7, 2003
Stories
I got here really late this morning...afternoon, I guess I should say. And I have a few stories to explain my tardiness, depending on who asks. And with all of these stories I've told, I must give the impression that I have no scruples and that I am just a big, fat liar. I don't want anyone to think that, really I don't.
Story No. 1:
I got up this morning to find a voicemail from the taxman. My tax documents had been prepared and were waiting for me to come and retrieve them. I did so at about 9:30 am, and upon reading the prepared tax documents and discovering the amount of money I owed Uncle Sam, I had to return home to vent and rage and break things to get rid of the purely visceral emotions that the interaction with the taxman caused. Don't get me wrong, the taxman was excellent and very proficient. It's the amounts owed that enraged me. So, I went home and spent some time meditating and wiping my tears away before I went to work. That's why I'm late.
Story No. 2:
Last night, H and I went to the Sunday afternoon happy hour, and I got falling down, shit-faced drunk. I was having such a good time that I couldn't leave at a reasonable hour. I don't even know how much I had to drink. All I know is that most of last night was a blur. We did stop for a slice of pizza on the way to the train. I thought it would not only taste good, but it would be good to have solid food in my stomach before I went home. I don't know what that was supposed to accomplish. Expecting the one slice of pizza to do anything with that alcohol is like trying to drain a pool with a tiny little sponge. Does that make sense? It did when I thought of it in the shower this morning. So we get home after midnight, I run up to Safeway because, in my drunken stupor, I absolutely had to buy bread and chocolate chips: bread for lunch today, and chocolate chips for cookies that I decided to make. Hello? And then when I get back and go to bed, it's almost two in the morning. So naturally, my body needed at least eight hours of sleep, and it took all eight of those hours, I woke up at 10:30 am and was out the door by 11:00 am. Thank my stars that I wasn't hung over.
Story No. 3: (and the least believable)
We forgot to change our clocks. Yeah, no I'm not going to use that one.
Pick the one you like the best. And I have to say that they're all true. I got my tax papers in the mail on Saturday, and it was totally devastating. Sunday afternoon, I realized that we didn't change the clocks, and then we went out and got fucked up. I don't think that everyone needs to know the real reason, and that's exactly why I'm posting this on the Internet. Duh.
