7:45 pm Wednesday Drunk

I went to five AA meetings last week. Two on Thursday and friday, one on Saturday; and on Sunday, I insisted on having mimosas to celebrate our fifth anniversary of the day we put a contract on this house. I'm sitting in the back yard now, on our bargain basement priced Martha Stewart garden set overlooking the lake, listening to the birds, looking longingly at my empty martini glass.

Rolf is picking up Chinese food on his way home. Bailey is sacked out in the sunroom. That's all she does these days . . . except for pee on herself and everywhere else. I keep her in the basement during the day. She can't hold it until I get home from work anymore. But, mostly, she's using a pee pad. The worst part is she won't come when called. She just starts shaking and refuses to get up. It's so strange. She's just come off a course of antibiotics, so the pee problem isn'.t as terrible as it was last month. But she is scared to death to go outside. And since we're trying to restrict her water intake until we get home, and then insist that she go outside every and and a half hours, we have a lot of attitude to deal with.

There's a big robin in the yard, a few feet from me, yelling at me. It must be the daddy. Or maybe not. Their nest is in our bay window that looks out from the dining room overlooking the lake. And neither mommy or daddy is sitting on the eggs. Man, the eggs look like they're cartoon eggs. So big and blue.

I applied for a job today. I hope I get it. It's at the company I worked for before this job. If I work there just for two weeks, I'll be fully vested in the retirement plan – it will be like an eight thousand dollar bonus. I shoulda known.

I haven't seen my folks in a while. They haven't called, I haven't called. But I did invite them up for brunch on Sunday. I hope they're doing well. I last saw them on my birthday, January 28^th. I'm a bad son. Shannon, CFB, and their daughter Briana have moved out from Mom and Dad's into their own house. Which is great, and it sucks. But now there's an empty apartment available in their basement. I hope a nurse moves in.

I'm directing two shows in the next twelve to eighteen months, and I don't have a music director for either of them. Wow, the politics of getting a music director is hard. Do I really have to make each candidate believe that he is my first choice? I've really really got to get that set.

The end.