It’s dead, Jim.

Sorry, Shay. I wish you were right about my little mum, but even the roots are brittle on it. No even Dr. McCoy could work a miracle on this one. I’m leaving it in my office to stare accusingly at me – it seems that I owe it some sort of opportunity for revenge. I’ll give it a decent burial when I finally crack.

The O’Beast is not taking well to his renewed diet regimen. He’s only getting two meals (compared to Cattitude’s and Kitten’s three), and he’s obviously displeased at luncheon when the other two get real scoops and he only gets four carefully measured kibbles. I need to babysit the other two cats’ bowls closely to ensure he doesn’t thieve what he believes he deserves from the others.

It’s the Socialist’s birthday today. He has a night class, so I won’t get to see much of him (especially since I plan on retiring early). I made steaks, mashed potatoes and peas for him last night though, and saw to it that he had his favorite Irish seasoned sausages in supply for his dinner tonight when he gets home. Poor lad – turning thirty was traumatic for him last year, but turning 31 this year plants both of his feet firmly into the thirties decade. He mourns the loss of his youth. Little does he know.

I’m busy setting up protocols at work so that people can cover for me in a prolonged absence. Tomorrow I finalize my will. I need to affix my signature to the Power of Attorney forms from my broker, and that will take care of that. Nothing has changed, but everything is becoming so real, so final. I feel better about getting all this done, but it’s still too morbid by far for my tastes. I’ll be glad when I can stick all this in my safe deposit box and forget it.

There’s a man at work who’s fourteen year old son is in a coma at the hospital. The kid decided to play a practical joke on his older brother’s girlfriend, and as she was driving (at a very slow speed) up their driveway to visit he sprang out of the bushes and landed across the hood of her car. Startled and scared, the girl braked, and the kid flew off of the hood and cracked his head at just the wrong angle on the pavement. From what I understand, he’s essentially brain dead – only about 10% of his brain is functioning. His parents are separated, and he was living with his dad. His mother refuses to consider turning off life support. We all feel terrible, and there is really nothing you can say or do. The man has been coming into work because it’s the only thing left to him at the moment that he can hang his sanity on, I think. I simply can’t imagine being in that position.

Well, I’m tired. First shower, then bed. Maybe I won’t hear the alarm tomorrow and I’ll get to sleep late. That would feel good.