Instead of completing two invoices this morning that might mean the difference between life and a reason to go on, I decided now would be the time to check Albertson’s for any sales in the frozen vegetables aisle (I SAVED $45.02 WITH A FINAL BILL OF $64.27 SO SOMETHING LIKE 41% OF MY DAY WAS WORTH LIVING). I also avoided any alcohol, which sort of negates the whole exercise. And still I breathe.

My vacation thus reaches its maturity then the way it was born: LABORIOUSLY. Ah made the dramatic mistake of letting my regular employer have mah telephone number, and the phone is constant craving. God knows why, since I don’t even share that information with any of the numerous pseudo-employers, who pay me upon meal receipts and anecdotal travel evidence. I have soooo much money (that I need to bill for), and still, it’s never enough. Lately we give most of it to struggling auto mechanics and cable executives that still have big dreams.

Day 19 of my great escape from work consisted of garage floor epoxification, probably the second leading cause of death outside of lack of brain from the oxygen. Maybe even the second leading cause, ahead of epoxification. Still, the floor looks great? Did I say great? Great is an understatement. As a matter of fact, it looks very much like I wasted 8 hours of my vacation on a fucking garage floor. That’s how great. You could call it Munchausen by Epoxy, for all I care. My. Oh, pain.

The saddest part is that I keep sneaking down to rub my bare feet all over the epoxified surface. My tears puddle, making clean up a breeze. God. Oh, pain.

Today, Naya caught her 35th pacific tree frog of the week, and we re-created a daily experiment. I buy $50 worth of terrarium supplies, they promise that they will take care of the frog as though the love of that sweet animal was nectar from the gods, Spongebath Squarefuck comes on, and I crawl through the tansy ragwort naked since that’s how the mosquitoes can best feed, and be peeled off my emaciated bones to nourish my children’s dear, beloved, forgotten pets.

WHY DID YOU LET THEM GO, DADDY???

Also, I have assumed the appearance of a stay-at-home dad, and all the new neighbor ladies are checking me out, and I am up to the task, working out in the morning through the sheer bamboo shades, but then showing my emotional side by being emotional in the running car with Swiffer Wet Jets jammed into the tailpipe. Just a crying.

And you know what’s funny is that I don’t FEEL dead. Like all of this is really happening. I’m well provided for, plenty of potential, kind of got all my bad habits under control, even sporting a backache like a dutiful husband that dutiful husbands many years more experienced than me might sport. Caught myself rubbing a little paint on my carpenter jeans. That was a bit affected, I admit. But it’s a jungle out there.

Not sure what my wings will look like when I finally emerge from my perfectification, but I hope they don’t need any sort of sealant. I am done with that stage of my life.