Dawn's Digression.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Patrick, Part 2 and I'm a Butt.
You want to hear something really sweet?
I came in to get Patrick out of the cage this morning, and Howard had covered her with a piece of sock I put in the cage yesterday. Sweet, no? Or maybe Howard doesn't like to look at dead friends. I'm going with the sweet route.
Factoid: Upon death, a finch's bright orange beak loses it's color and turns almost brown.
Factoid: I do not like touching dead things, in case I haven't mentioned it.
Factoid: I now have a dead bird in a box. Oy. I gotta call Mom and see if I can come out and bury him today. Woo wee.
Factoid: I have to buy another finch. Yes, 'have' to. Finches are social by nature and need more than one of their kind. I'm going to wait a few days to make sure Howard doesn't knock off from some strange bird disease or something. I really don't need the mouse cycle I had for 3 years.
I don't feel good and I know why. I was a butt to Michele last night. :( I feel sick inside and must call and apologize. Oy. *bangs head on desk* I hate when I'm an idiot. I'd call now, but my mother taught me never to call before 10am unless there is an emergency. Great Scott, I do not want to call. My stomach hurts.
I might as well just tell you how I was a butt. I'll feel better.
She called me last night when I was at the hospital with Rachel, and like a giant idiot, I answered the phone. (Why?) She says something to the effect of, "Hi. What are you doing, anyway?" First of all, what I am doing is pretty much MY business, isn't it? No one else who called me would ever ask WHAT I'm doing. They might ask what I'm up to, which is much more vague. Anyhoo, I tell her I'm at the hospital and then she acts like she cares what is up with Rachel when we both know darn well she doesn't care about Rachel. (Unless Rachel finally grew on her and she never told me.) THEN, she says, "What did you do with the rest of my movies?" Excuse me? EXCUSE ME? How about, "Hey, I can't find one of my movies, do you have any idea where it might be?" That would be less offensive.
You need some background here regarding why that would be a trigger for me. Michele lost crap all the time. Or, more accurately, she put things in places and then had no idea what she did with them. For some reason, it was always, "What did you do with....?" "Where did you put....". Um. Yeah. So, anyway, later she would find the item that I had 'put' somewhere.
Anyway, that's a major trigger for me. So I told her (after telling her where her DVDs are) that I suggest she go through her things again because I don't like A Christmas Story, I don't want A Christmas Story, and I don't want any of her stuff. Then I preceded to tell her how I want her off my phone plan now and don't appreciate her recent lie to me. Bad, bad, BAD choice, Dawn. BAD.
Thank God I didn't tell her the rest of what I was thinking. Like how inconsiderate I felt she was when she invited me to go to church with her and then had me stand there for 20 minutes so I could watch her flirt with her new 'friend'. I also felt as though Mich was cutting me down in front of her. (I was probably being sensitive as well.) OR. How I think Michele is a butt because I can't talk to her without her bringing up the friend's name. Hello? I am very careful about what I write in my own dang blog because I know she stops by and don't want to hurt her with anything I might say. ARGH.
At any rate, I was wrong and bad. Mean and rude. Ugh. It's 9:51, which means it is almost time to apologize. I'm hoping for her answering machine, but then again, I wonder if I can purge if I talk to a machine. *sigh*
After the call, I'm going back to bed with a new book. The VC Andrews over there on the left. I am going to have to reboot because I have a party to go to tonight, and I would really like to not be all weighted down by my inappropriate behavior.
*bangs self on head.... stupid, stupid, stupid*
9:58.
Here goes.
Belly hurts.
Answering machine. I am surely going to hell. <---perhaps a little dramatic.
I came in to get Patrick out of the cage this morning, and Howard had covered her with a piece of sock I put in the cage yesterday. Sweet, no? Or maybe Howard doesn't like to look at dead friends. I'm going with the sweet route.
Factoid: Upon death, a finch's bright orange beak loses it's color and turns almost brown.
Factoid: I do not like touching dead things, in case I haven't mentioned it.
Factoid: I now have a dead bird in a box. Oy. I gotta call Mom and see if I can come out and bury him today. Woo wee.
Factoid: I have to buy another finch. Yes, 'have' to. Finches are social by nature and need more than one of their kind. I'm going to wait a few days to make sure Howard doesn't knock off from some strange bird disease or something. I really don't need the mouse cycle I had for 3 years.
I don't feel good and I know why. I was a butt to Michele last night. :( I feel sick inside and must call and apologize. Oy. *bangs head on desk* I hate when I'm an idiot. I'd call now, but my mother taught me never to call before 10am unless there is an emergency. Great Scott, I do not want to call. My stomach hurts.
I might as well just tell you how I was a butt. I'll feel better.
She called me last night when I was at the hospital with Rachel, and like a giant idiot, I answered the phone. (Why?) She says something to the effect of, "Hi. What are you doing, anyway?" First of all, what I am doing is pretty much MY business, isn't it? No one else who called me would ever ask WHAT I'm doing. They might ask what I'm up to, which is much more vague. Anyhoo, I tell her I'm at the hospital and then she acts like she cares what is up with Rachel when we both know darn well she doesn't care about Rachel. (Unless Rachel finally grew on her and she never told me.) THEN, she says, "What did you do with the rest of my movies?" Excuse me? EXCUSE ME? How about, "Hey, I can't find one of my movies, do you have any idea where it might be?" That would be less offensive.
You need some background here regarding why that would be a trigger for me. Michele lost crap all the time. Or, more accurately, she put things in places and then had no idea what she did with them. For some reason, it was always, "What did you do with....?" "Where did you put....". Um. Yeah. So, anyway, later she would find the item that I had 'put' somewhere.
Anyway, that's a major trigger for me. So I told her (after telling her where her DVDs are) that I suggest she go through her things again because I don't like A Christmas Story, I don't want A Christmas Story, and I don't want any of her stuff. Then I preceded to tell her how I want her off my phone plan now and don't appreciate her recent lie to me. Bad, bad, BAD choice, Dawn. BAD.
Thank God I didn't tell her the rest of what I was thinking. Like how inconsiderate I felt she was when she invited me to go to church with her and then had me stand there for 20 minutes so I could watch her flirt with her new 'friend'. I also felt as though Mich was cutting me down in front of her. (I was probably being sensitive as well.) OR. How I think Michele is a butt because I can't talk to her without her bringing up the friend's name. Hello? I am very careful about what I write in my own dang blog because I know she stops by and don't want to hurt her with anything I might say. ARGH.
At any rate, I was wrong and bad. Mean and rude. Ugh. It's 9:51, which means it is almost time to apologize. I'm hoping for her answering machine, but then again, I wonder if I can purge if I talk to a machine. *sigh*
After the call, I'm going back to bed with a new book. The VC Andrews over there on the left. I am going to have to reboot because I have a party to go to tonight, and I would really like to not be all weighted down by my inappropriate behavior.
*bangs self on head.... stupid, stupid, stupid*
9:58.
Here goes.
Belly hurts.
Answering machine. I am surely going to hell. <---perhaps a little dramatic.
Dawn, 9:25 AM
