Monday, November 16, 2020


Key phrase in the household at this moment: "Stop being a greedy frass, Pudge-Wudge!" This directed at one of the stuffed creatures, who has an eating disorder (he wants to eat ALL the time, we only feed him at mealtimes). He eats a lot. But he says that we never feed him.
Despite developing a pear-shape, damned near eggplantian, since coming here.
'Pudge-Wudge' isn't his real name, of course.
It's an affectionate nick-name.

Dear operaticaly exaggerating Pudge-Wudge.

Having worked for several days, it is now pau hana time. One of my coworkers managed to break a few ribs while at home -- We've been telling everyone she was practicing her tackle, but she's actually a bit accident prone -- and will be out till next year. I'm now covering one of her shifts. Working four days a week again.

When I got home, the sounds of stuffed creature discord reached my ears. My apartment mate had gotten home earlier, and it was from her room that the furball voices came. I am not as social as she is. All I want when I get back to the apartment after slaving at the salt mines is a cup of coffee, some perfectly rotten news on the internet, and later a quiet smoke.

If there are stuffed creatures sharing the apartment, that is impossible.
They're nature's little fuzzy anarchists.
Kind of like the Irish.

Dinner: Fatty pork fried up with garlic, chilies, and noodles. Yes, I shared it gerously with Pudge-Wudge. So he's quiescent for the nonce. There was also icecream He had some of that too.
Peace at last.

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