While it sings to itself or whatever it does

My stereo broke last night. I’m sad about it. Not just because I’m having to play CDs through my computer speakers now (which are actually okay, but, you know) – my Dad bought it for me. He somehow found his way past buying me another blender or a rice cooker or a framed picture of a cricket player – he actually thought about what I love and went out and bought it. It’s not a terribly good stereo – the sound is only okay and the right speaker has dropped in and out since I got it home. It would also look at home on the Starship Enterprise control panel, which isn’t really my style. But it really means a lot to me.

And now the damn CD tray won’t come out. Bah. And I think Alligator by The National is in there, which ultimately means using force.

I AM, however, now faced with the prospect of going stereo shopping. This is a little bit exciting.

In other news, my little cat has developed this thing about my hair elastics. My hair is long, but I wear it up most of the time. I don’t really like it all up in my face. So it stands to reason that strewn about the house are plenty of hair bands and elastics and what not. He LOVES the damn things – he pushes them around the floor with his paws, he carries them around in his mouth, and he collects them in various parts of the house. He actually does this fairly regularly with a lot of things – there was the one afternoon when I came home and found most of my shoes, normally lined up near the front door, stacked in a pile under my bed. Uh huh.

Anyway, recently (like, the last 6 weeks or so), not only does he go around the house collecting these hair things; he puts them in his water bowl. I kid you not – some days I’ll get home from work and there will be 6 or 7 of the damn things floating in there. And I’ve watched him do it – I’ll pull them out and put them in the middle of the laundry floor, and he’ll wander over, pick them up in his mouth one at a time, and calmly drop them into the water. Thereafter comes a hilarious few minutes of him deciding how deep he wants to put his paws in there after them.

He certainly is special.

I am waiting, again, for Friday. As much as I try and live my weeks and make them somewhat useful, they consist entirely of riding shit out until the weekend. And this weekend is theatre and music and time with the boy – all of which will feed my heart and my soul.

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