I am all alone in this world. Insert the pity party you guys are about to throw me _________.
Less piñatas, gosh! This is a pity party, for heaven’s sake. And hands off the guacamole and chips while you’re at it. (Why is my pity party Mexican-themed?) If you want to eat, feed on my incessant whining and sorrow.
All alone was probably an irrational thing to say. I’ve got friends, ya know. Can’t forget the cat (like she’d let me). Probably shouldn’t leave my wonderful family out, either. And I suppose I AM surrounded by coworkers eight hours of the day, not to mention I have all of you.
To sum up, the more tiny violins you could play for me, the better, because I see the margaritas are running out, too. Sheesh, who organized this fiesta – it’s like you just started to hastily put it together a minute ago.
In hindsight, I’m not so entirely alone as much as I’m simply without Clayton for a few more days. Nine to be exact. NINE. That’s more than a week! I counted. He’s in Israel, working, writing me postcards and floating in the Dead Sea while simultaneously taking photos of himself in said sea, thumbs up and all smiles. At least, those are the instructions I gave him before he left. Hope his phone’s salt-proof. Hope he thinks to bring tequila and limes!
I envision the aforementioned postcards to have funny-looking camels in ridiculously tiny hats on the front. Postcards that say something witty, such as: “Like sands through an hourglass, so are the — OMG, camel in a fedora!” and will make me miss him even more because they remind me of how funny and adorable he is, and how much he gets my offbeat sense of humor. And the camels are smiling widely to reveal a set of bulky teeth, but in a really cheesy manner like they just slyly swindled another tourist out of more cash for a camel ride because Americans don’t know the kilometer to mile conversion. And they’re wearing sombreros.
I really can’t escape this theme.
On the upside of this whole situation, I get the bed to myself to sprawl out as far as my short legs will take me, which I suppose isn’t really a game changer after all. I can watch all the rom-coms I want, only having to defend myself from a disdainful-looking Chloe. As if that’s not difficult enough — those eyes are sharp enough to cut through any of Katherine Heigl’s drama.
And painting! I’ll do it!
On the downside, I don’t have anyone to make fun of Finding Bigfoot with. (“This could be the episode where they find him!”) Or to snuggle against when I wake up in the middle of the night after bad dreams about X-Men’s Deadpool character. Shiver. That being said, I guess I also don’t have anyone to diligently remind me of the Deadpool nightmare the next evening just as I’m trying to fall asleep. Thanks for that, darling.
Lastly, who’s going to email me daily at work to liven up my workweek with funny
pictures stories of past broomball tournament(s) haircuts and instructions on how to build a cat tank?
Anyone willing to email me daily until April 5 going once…
Anyone willing to email me daily until April 5 going twice…
Don’t be shy. ANY ONE will do.
I am all alone in this world.