Clive is Not Impressed

Clive is my very old rat, yet still he acts quite baby-ish for such an old guy. Anyway, he had a smelly cardboard box in his cage he was sleeping in, and today I bought him a new, special, “igloo.” It’s made of purple plastic. He seems to be able to fit it, but he doesn’t want to go inside. Keeps kicking it around, probably swearing under his squeaks.

Maybe it is too small. Either way, he’s not impressed with it. Fussy.

I finally finished all the tasks I had to do this week. Oh, except go see my doctor. Crumbs.

I bought this really high alcohol level Quebec beer today. I haven’t bought beer in a long time. Oh heck, that’s a lie, I had beer last Saturday at some opening. But this one is called Fin Du Monde. Isn’t that such an apocalyptic name? Oddly though, as soon as I got it home I wanted one of those C2’s. Damn. So now I am thirsty for pop. The four horsemen of the apocalypse in alcohol form will have to wait.

Oh, and the other TRAGIC thing that happened to me today was my c.d. player went A.W.O.L. I don’t know what terrible kinds of music I was forcing it to play, but it decided to desert me. It did this to me before. And it likes to make me look like a buffoon. For instance, once I was on the bus with a friend and I had just finished this five minute speech about the loss of my c.d. walkman and then I opened the front of my backpack AND THERE IT WAS. That asshole. Just smirking, like “Oh ha ha ha, Thirza can’t find anything of hers, she’s such a dork!”

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