Ah, yes…another wasted weekend. Friday, as expected, I rushed home from work in a panic to find the other twin a gift, ended up with a too-expensive pair of diamond earrings, raced to the homestead for dinner, and celebrated their thirtieth. My sister K showed me her brand new PS2 Mini and, wonderful sister that she is, let me play with it and drool over it while I was there. I. Must. Have. One.

Ended up making it home pretty early and ended up meeting the boy in Lakewood for some drinks and some darts with he and his friends. I had, until that night, managed to maintain an unusual level of coordination in his presence. That all ended when I was discussing something with enthusiastic animation and I knocked a drink into my lap and it shattered on the floor. Yeah. Guess I couldn’t hide my true self forever.

It was a great night, though, and I ended up being kidnapped (aw darn) and staying at his place, which is, to be honest, a little problematic. I just can’t sleep there. For one thing, I’m extremely allergic to cats, and he has two of them. If they were the anti-social disappearing sort of cats it wouldn’t be such a problem, but they are the young, playful, into everything, climb all over the furniture kind of cats, and so I can hardly breathe as soon as I walk in the door. In fact, at one point I felt a tickle on my nose and opened my eyes to discover a little cat face less than a centimeter away. I had to get up and blow my nose and rinse out my eyes about a half a dozen times. Plus his sheets just…bug me. I can’t stand flannel or those jersey cotton sheets or whatever they are. They drive me insane. And it’s too warm.

I’ll just have to adjust, I guess. I’m sure my place wouldn’t be much fun for a visitor, either. At least his cats are small and light. I don’t doubt that anyone other than me would be less than enthusiastic about a 40-pound beagle lumbering over your must sensitive areas in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. I can just see Zeus now, digging his paws into the boy’s back and trying to push him off of the bed while Reme tries to steal his pillow. Not an ideal situation either, I suppose.

Needless to say my Saturday was spent sleeping in my own bed with the perfect sheets and the two pillow-hogging beagles. I went to work in the evening and had to serve (grrr). I made a ridiculously insignificant amount of cash and, in my cranky state, turned down all plans to go out afterwards and went home to eat rice, watch Buffy, and get some more sleep.

And then, Sunday. Warm, sunny, beautiful Sunday. I woke and took the dogs out, dragged my bike out of the garage in preparation for what I intended to be a selfish and hedonistic day where I would hit the trails both on wheel and on foot, eat strawberries, read a book outside, and glow with happiness. After striking a deal with my neighbor who offered to cut my lawn all year if I gave him my kayak (done) and buying some goodies at the grocery store, a phone call derailed those plans quite forcibly. I’d forgotten I’d agreed to help J&J paint and move in their new home. Drat. Eight hours later, my paint-fume addled brain drove home with the conviction that I am the worst painter ever. It looks like another weekend slipped away without me managing to do much of anything that I’d wanted to, which I’m really hoping will not be the theme for the next few months. Course, when I look at my calendar, it’s entirely possible.

Must get back to work, but first, some Zinc, Echinacea, and some extra Vitamin C. Turns out A is extremely sick, has been all weekend. I can’t get sick this week. That would be just too perfect with all I have lined up.