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I was summoned to my mom's hizzouse yesterday morning without any hint as to what my mission was going to be.
As it was explained to me, my mother's cleaning lady (I know, I know) had managed to lock herself in the bathroom while looking for the Windex. When I managed to get the door open, she was still cleaning, mumbling something in Russian because she doesn't know how to clean lazy people's houses while mumbling in English.
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The only way I got out of bed this afternoon was via the bottle of tequila I have left over from a few weeks ago. I can't say it was a surprise. Every Sunday, like clockwork, the same overwhelming feeling of dread.
It was worse than usual today though. I got up for breakfast but had to crawl back to bed and didn't get up until 3:30pm. That I only got up to rake leaves with Michael after my throat was burning is fairly disturbing.
I was fine after that though, what with all the raking, eating, bathing, hair-washing, masturbating, hair-trimming, Matrix-watching, pumkin-seed-eating, girlfriend talking I did and all the sleeping that I'm about to do.
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I'm hungry.
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