Aaron accosted me as I arrived home this evening—quite late, due to a traffic backup on Reynolds Road—and made me promise not to get all depressed and funky this evening. It wasn’t so much the verbal demand as it was the incessant tickling and throttling and schnuthberries on my neck that made me agree to this arrangement.
So, I ate dinner, watched the news, checked my e-mail, read my blogs, tried to find some of Sheryl’s family on those genealogy sites I mentioned earlier (no luck yet), cleared a couple things off the stack on my desk, and played Civ III for a couple hours. Perfectly content. I was just contemplating staying up for a while longer, just because I don’t have to get up early tomorrow, but my body is rebelling.
At this moment in particular, the cat has decided that I’ve ignored her long enough, and is curled up in my lap, purring and kneading my right arm. At least she doesn’t slide off like she did when she was a teensy kitten.
Yeah, I think it’s time for bed. Do not read Harry Potter, do not collect $200. Come on, kitty. Let’s go upstairs.