20 March 2013
I’m toothless–well, missing a tooth–and I think I might have cat shit in my hair, and I’m at work, and I don’t know anyone here well enough yet to ask them to sniff my head. And if they did sniff it and there were cat shit, what could I do?
The prospect of writing about how I came to be in this condition just fills me with weariness.
(Next morning) I wrote that during lunch yesterday. And then in the afternoon, my paralegal was in my office, and I thought she must smell it. So I asked her. And she said I smell just fine. And she laughed when I explained how Duncan had poop on his paws this morning and got it all over Enzo’s blankets and sheets and pillow case and walked on my head too. Hurrah. I like my new job pretty well.
The fact that I have a paralegal and a secretary fills me with wonder. I’m not their boss, thank god, in fact, I consider them to be mine. I’m constantly asking them what to do. But they do things like format pleadings, serve documents and prepare exhibits–the kind of things I used to do myself, not very well, and never get paid for because it’s not real lawyer work.
Teresa: (singing the old Motels song): Take the L out of Lover and it’s Over.
Me: (to the same tune) Take the P out of Poopy Paws and it’s Oopy Aws.
Teresa: Ooey Aws. Take the E out of Enzo and it’s Nzo.
Me: Take the B out of Butt-cheek and it’s Utt-Cheek. (You see how this could go on pretty much forever. Inexhaustible fun.)
Enzo: Take the R out of Fart and it’s Art.
(Actually Fat, but he doesn’t spell yet. And Art is more poetic.)
During this exchange, I was taking a pee, Enzo was in bed, Teresa was somewhere else in the house, and we were all yelling/singing out our contributions.
I love our little house. You can hear everything from all over it. Like when Enzo was born we thought about getting a baby monitor, and then we realized the entire house is a baby monitor. Last night I got up at three and read and drank tea in the kitchen (Reading not Writing, very good) and Teresa claims I woke her up with my sipping.
Enzo: You are infinity degrees stinky.
Enzo: I need a tropical tie-dye fruit roll up. (For breakfast.) I think it would calm my nerves.
He’s sick and milking it. It’s a nice chesty cold and his voice is hoarse. He keeps trying it out and sort of relishing how strange it sounds.
Enzo: When I moan, it sounds like a girl’s moan.