Steel-toed boots.

[letterblade]

The bad parts of this morning: Arrived at train station in freezing cold; train was half an hour late, and they didn't even announce it on the little LED screen that usually has statements such as "train out of service bus arr. Worcestor 940 AM" flashing forty minutes after the train was supposed to come. Was pretty pissy by the time it finally pulled in, as it was the second out of three times that the Saturday morning train I take in to gallery-sit (the only time I ever have to arrive at an actual specified time at Mobius) that had been half an hour late. So then I get to South Station, and need to get lunch, and don't want Chinese food because I had it yesterday, and stand in line at McDonalds and wait forever because the guy takes forever to fill the order of the person in front of me, and fills the order of the guy behind me before mine. But I finally get my chicken nuggets, and am racing across the bridge over the Fort Point Channel when the lid pops off my diet coke, soaking my blanket and my pants leg and the rest of the food and the inside of my mother's cloak which probably needs to be fucking dry-cleaned and I'll probably have to fucking pay for it. Only my one shred of ecological responsibility caused me to not chuck the coke-soaked food into the Fort Point Channel. So I go into the other McShit on the way to work, because it's the only fucking restaurant in Fort Point, and the line is six miles long because it's part of the Children's Museum and moving sluggishly because everybody besides me has 2938472346 attatched rugrats and is having to bang into the poor workers the differences between the corresponding 20394729364 Happy Meals. And I fork over another six bucks to the godforsaken restaurant and finally grab my food and storm out of there, and carry my coke outside my cloak this time so my hands are freezing by the time I get to work, and my leg is freezing because my jeans are soaked through with diet coke.

The good of this morning: Starting to finally reread The Book of the New Sun. Kicking lampposts, because I have steel-toed boots and it's painless and satisfying. Having LJ to rant at.

Comments

[telepwen.livejournal.com]

Ohhh... ::hugs::

We'll make your day very good later! Yes, we will!

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, yes. *grins* Even if I do still smell like dried-up coke.

When are you coming over? I'll be getting home around 6:30, it looks; but that's before dinner, and I don't know when or where you want to food or whether Mum will want to food you.

Although I think Mum will be calling you at some point today.

[telepwen.livejournal.com]

Your Mum already called. She said any time from seven thirty on, that you'd all be having dinner in Boston? I think. (If this turns out to actually be the case, and it was supposed to be a surprise or something... you didn't hear it from me...)

I will be appropriately fooded by the time I get there.

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

o.O

I'm slightly confused now. But I still know where and when I'm meeting Mum, so I guess she'll food me at some point... O.o

Re:

[telepwen.livejournal.com]

Just remember... act surprised! (You don't have AIM at this computer of yours?)

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

No--it's the work computer. 'Twould be spiffy if I did, but I'd have to download the client and all and that would be beyond the pale even for my delinquency. ;)

[telepwen.livejournal.com]

Someday, I'll come down there, download the client, and then you can claim that you didn't do it.