Felix

I was supposed to go home tomorrow, but my mom is staying at Lasqueti another day and so I shall too remain another day. She said it was fine: just heap the cat dish full of food and he'll manage but, as my coworkers pointed out today, I secretly like Felix.
See, I lasted until only 11.30am at work on Tuesday because I have this and I was feeling a lot like this and it rather sucks to be feeling unwell and alone. I mean, individually? Feeling unwell or alone can be daunting. But when you combine the two? It's worse than when you get (what you think is) a pretty nice hair cut and then someone says "did you get a haircut?" and you say yes and they smile and walk away.
So anyways, I went to bed feeling sorry for myself (and my uterus, the goddamn thing) and Felix, with whom I normally engage in no small amount of combative activity as he tries to trip me coming down the stairs to retaliate for when I try to fling him off the balcony by the tail, jumps on the bed and we do our little pet/wrestle/play fight thing, after which he normally hops off the bed or, to piss me off, sleeps between my feet so I feel bad about trying to change positions because it wakes him up (and oh: I know he's asleep because he snores). But this time he curled up against my stomach and slept with me all night.
Weird, right?
I think he could tell I was a sad panda.
But probably he was trying to give me fleas.
Okay, also? The movie "Paper Heart"? Oh god. So crap. Like, if you're write yourself into a movie like Charlyne Yi did? Try and make a flattering portrayal of yourself. And if this was supposed to be some kind of candid insight into Yi's "real" personality? No wonder she can't find love: she's a goddamned, immature and irritating individual with few redeeming qualities and a highly irritating laugh. This poorly thought out, badly spliced, self-serving pseudo-documentary has inflamed a rage I didn't know that I harboured against hoodies, and leaves me wondering what passes for "tomboy" as far as the mid-twenties set is concerned.