I'm Not Feelin' It

It’s been a busy weekend.

Thursday, my car died. The alternator had broken, and the car was slowly taxing itself out on just the battery. I didn’t go to work on Friday, while I sat and waited to hear that the mechanics could fix up Claudia for the second time in a month’s time.

Saturday night, dear readers, at A Christmas Carol, we had in our audience none other than the great-great-grandson of Charles Dickens, Gerald Charles Dickens. He showed up in Victorian garb and told us he loved the show. He performs his own one-man show of the same. It was three kinds of surreal.

No more than 48 hours after my own car trouble, Amanda’s car went the big kaput. Coincidences, coincidences.

Overslept yesterday, and today likewise consisted of nothing but the show. Granted, my social life of late hasn’t provided much need to do anything outside showtimes two and three, so what the hell. And now I’m full-blown ticked.

My best, geographically-nearest friend now has five pets. Five. If I take two steps toward his house, my head would clog up and then explode. My best friend works two jobs and a full weekend rote, so my visits with him are fewer and farther between than I’d like.

My writing’s coming along. Didn’t get squat put on paper today or yesterday, but at least I’ve been asking myself the questions I need to that will further it along when I’m disposed to it.

Have a good night, all.