Two tasks tonight: Pick up a cat carrier so I can drop Wuss off at the vet tomorrow morning and then complete my application for the PhotoShop class in San Francisco. There's an introductory meeting for prospective students a week from Saturday and I plan to attend to see if I can't talk my way into their program. I have no idea how many people want to sign up to be web designers in San Francisco, but I have a hunch a bunch.
So it's later and a purple cat carrier sits on a chair in the living room. I've written a
VISA check and paid the phone company so I'm no longer flush, albeit solvent. The application for the PhotoShop class is sitting on the desk. I am tired and want to go to bed and forget this entry for now, but I've already scanned the images and Wuss has settled down and eaten a can of the prescription cat food. He is no longer meowing from the chair next to my desk, but lying at my left wrist watching me (I think) type. He has been peeing in the usual places and the apartment smelled of ammonia when I opened the door. He goes to the vet at 8:00 in the morning to see what can be seen. I hope it's obvious and not overly fatal. He's a pissy cat, but he's my pissy cat. We, um, seem to fit. Pets who look like their owners. Owners who look like their pets. I do not wish to pursue this too far, particularly the pissing part. I hear stories, now that I'm older, mostly from advertisements on television about older adults and their diapers. Moan. Where is this going?
New thought. The mind is somewhat clearer. There is a program about cosmology playing on the Public Television channel behind me. Einstein has admitted he missed the boat when he didn't believe his own General Theory of Relativity and predict an expanding universe. I wonder if Einstein had a cat? What did Einstein's cat look like? Was he a long messy haired cat? Did he address the wider questions of Catmology and Dogmatic Equations? Moan.
I need to stop. Tomorrow is Friday, another day before a weekend and I can already hear the journal entry forming. Moan, it's dark. Moan, I don't wanna go to a movie. Moan, I don't have any pictures to scan. Moan, moan, moan. If I were to go to a movie directly from work, of course, I wouldn't have to moan, but then I wouldn't have time to write a journal entry to moan in and by Saturday, well, I'd have the time and I'd be ready to moan again. I wonder who owns www.moanandgroan.com? Ah, just checked. Dot com and dot net are taken, but moanandgroan.org is available! I'd buy it, but I own enough of these things already (and no one has offered me a dollar for any of them!). Moan.