That's not what the Death card means

Some bullshit
written 2016-11-20 14:40:51

I woke up before Ingrid, after being sick overnight (good sausage and peppers, bad digestion). The dog only wants affection from her and not me, but we'd slept in late and she badly wanted a walk. I took her out in 40 degree weather and howling winds wearing only a t-shirt, because I'm an idiot.

After I got her back in the house, I fed her, which now involves throwing her food across the house so she can chase it, and/or putting food into toys that she can play with. She actually sits and complains if the food is just sitting there in her bowl.

Then I cleaned up all the dishes from role-playing. There are a lot, because at least one of our players simply doesn't worry about cleaning up after himself. He lives with his parents, always has, and is about 40 years old. I emptied the dishwasher and put away the dishes, then reloaded all the dirty dishes from yesterday. I also threw away the food that the non-cleaning guy left, took out the super-full bin of recyclables, put away teacups that Ingrid lets get all tannined and have to be washed by hand. I had already washed those by hand before Ingrid came home on Tuesday, and they say out until this morning.

Remember when I said it was howling winds this morning? That probably means the recyclable bin is less full now and our alley is littered as fuck.

I made Ingrid a cup of tea and took it to her in bed.

The dog got ahold of some little gravel and was chewing it. She's done this at least once before, and it worries me. I don't want to have to deal with her skittishness if she breaks a tooth and bleeds all over the place, so I thought I'd try and get the gravel away from her. But she sees it as food, and so she bit me.

Fuck me, right?

--2:37 PM, EST, November 20, 2016, Philadelphia, PA, gimme big mac / gimme fries to go

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