I am sitting in my underware on the verge of reckless unemployment once again...
This seems to be a recent trend with me.
I always listen to my cricket instead of my wallet, and give notice when it is convenient for my employer not me.
I hate it when I'm left to ramble about myself, for too long, about a week now until my domesticity reasserts It's self with guitar repairers and 40oz littering my floor.
For now there is the smell of stale beer from when the Kitten knocked over the paper bag filled with the boy creatures leavings, and the sounds of the narrow escapes on the street below, Elvis, and Atmosphere to interrupt
...punctuated by feline sighs.
Since the Boy has left I've been watching House re-runs, reading Transmetroplitan &Hunter S Thompson, and drinking socially (when I'm not devaluing Hotels with my presence as my current job requires).
All things of great comfort in dark lonely times
(even the hotels, there is something wonderful about stealing kosher cake leftovers from the bowels of a service corridor after enduring an affluent wedding for most of the day).