I went to bed with light in the sky. Then the phone rang. It’s still early morning, but I answer the phone. The Crown has dropped all charges laid against me.
I’m free. No finger-printing, no crim charges. Dance Dance Immolation.
Also, I’ve a job interview this evening at Dream Designs, a delightful interior decorating shop that’s only a few blocks from my house.
This just might be the best news since a possible breach of contract was the only thing what marked my birthday.
To celebrate, here’s a piece that Nicholas wrote that is pure Jhayne-mockery: Strawberry Sickness.
Serves me right for letting these people into my house.
I’m leaving pictures until Andrew returns from the East Coast. This has been a run of bad timing Saturdays, everyone’s been busy. It doesn’t help either that I’ve been too preoccupied with the ridiculous packets of stress that have been landing on me to kick anyone’s asses. Of late, there’s only been varying degrees of more and more.
I still have to write my letter to Bill offering the baby cradle that’s taken up residence in my home.