By fucking gawd I made it through another Monday.
Getting through the day kind of felt like sliding down a metal pole on my teeth, but hey—hey!—tomorrow is Tuesday, and you know what that means...
It means that Chuck told me I'd better not come home right after work. He wants me to spend the evening doing something for myself. He's going to feed the kids and put them to bed and he doesn't want to see me until at least 9 pm.
I should be thrilled, but I have no idea what the hell to do. Borders went out of business, so there goes the ever-so-cliche idea of sipping a latte while browsing through stacks of books. The local watering hole is way too local. I don't like strangers touching my feet, so no pedicure. I splurged on some fall clothes last weekend, so no more shopping for me.
The movies are too expensive. Ditto for a cut and color. I'm not looking for random sex, so cruising the commuter parking lots along I-95 is out. And I don't like horses, so there'll be no horseback riding.