June 5th, 2007

Typing

(no subject)

OK, time for the daily attempt at trying to post, which may or may not work.

Another day of clouds and rain, and that's a plus. Whoever the jackass is, outside, yelling at someone for whatever reason, that's not. Ah well, if you live among the humans, whatcha gonna do? They're savages.

I quit my job back in 2002, when I moved down here. Now, it looks like I may have to go back to work again. The upshot of this would be the extra money, no question. On the other hand, I haven't worked in five flippin' years (not counting caring for Ray), I don't have a car, and physically, I'm not exactly tip-top. Not entirely sure what I can find or how I can get it...I shouldn't complain, I've had it fairly easy for a long time now, better than I could ask for, I should appreciate that time I had and move on. Honestly, though? I don't care what I should feel; for the moment, I hate the idea. Dealing with the maladjusted (both those to serve and those to work with), hanging around an uncomfortable place for 8 hours a day, bringing things to a grinding halt again...well, go figure. Still, that's just selfish whining.
Typing

(no subject)

A man went to a psychiatrist and said, "Doctor, I've got trouble. Every time I get into bed, I think there's somebody under it. I get under the bed, I think there's somebody on top of it. Top, under, top, under. You have to help me, I'm going crazy!"

"Just put yourself in my hands for two years," said the psychiatrist. "Come to me three times a week, and I'll cure your fears."

"How much do you charge?" "A hundred dollars per visit." "I'll sleep on it," said the man.

Six months later the doctor met the man on the street. "Why didn't you ever come to see me again?" asked the psychiatrist. "For a hundred buck's a visit? A bartender cured me for ten dollars." replied the man. The psychiatrist was shocked. "Is that so! How?"

"He told me to cut the legs off the bed!"