People, lost hairbrushes and shit

Today was, brilliant! In regards to yesterday, Whatawaste ended up going to see my boss. He indicated that there were complications with yesterdays procedure, and said that I had trouble accepting what I had done. So for my benefit, we autopsied the animal in question.

Textbook procedure. I was fast, so stress was minimal. I didn't hot the wrong spots, and I hadn't damaged or inflammed any of the surrounding tissues. It was, as I have stated, textbook. I'm not saying that there is nothing to learn from this. But I know that I have to restrain the little fuzzies not as hard, and take the risk of being slower, and them wriggling and possibly injuring themselves. Its a very fine line to walk.

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I haven't even seen my hairbrush for about three days. I think it might be in my bed. I've looked everywhere else. Except for the places I haven't looked. So my bed must be the next logical step. See, I don't use all of my bed. I don't even use half of it! Its queen sized and the cats have their own spots, so it might be under there.

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Married Man snapped at me yesterday. Not my fault and not his. He was suffering from Mondayitis and frustrated and I picked up a tiny problem. I knew he was upset so I didn't let it get to me. Anyways he comes in today and he's all apologetic. How sexy is that! I love a guy who can apologise. I love anybody who can apologise. Its such a down to earth trait. But if you're hot... phwoar! I just wanted to jump him.

So we were talking about other stuff and he looks away to think about something, and I'm sitting there visually raping him. I can look but not touch, right?

I need to give him a new name.

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Have you ever had the feeling that you're trying to shit out a brick? Sideways? I hate that feeling. Its damn uncomfortable to say the least. When you're sitting on the toilet, with your knees up around your ears and gripping the toilet roll dispenser for dear life, pushing like there's no tomorrow. Its ready to leave, to take the big swim, but you don't know if it's going to take the plunge. And you feel it move. Its finally over.

Afterwards you look down at it. Its lifelessly sitting there, at the bottom of the water. It doesn't even have the energy to float. It just sits there like a sad, dead baby. You wonder if the flush will move it. If dumping a little bit of water on it will make the whole experience go away.

And there's no satisfaction at the end. I mean, after a good dump you get a glow, an all encompassing feeling of well being. You almost need a cigarette after a good dump. But after this you feel kinda dirty and abused. You just want to go sit in the corner and whimper for a bit. Your arse hurts. You want the glow but it eludes you.

And no. There aren't, and will never be, any pictures. So don't even ask.

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BTW, its my sister's birthday. Go say hello to her, and tell her to get her arse back into blogging!