Oh! Things are a laugh-a-minute here in Boystown!
Since Skeeter's pot-induced hysteria on the weekend, he's simmered down into oxycodone withdrawal. Nice to watch: nausea, headaches, him pacing about 'til five or six in the morning and when he is in bed, his legs bouncing about like he's auditioning for "So You Think You Can Dance." At least he isn't talking about killing me or himself anymore. We ran into Babs and Ginger yesterday and when Skeeter told her what his doctor had done, Babs said, "You should sue her ass off." I agree...it would be nice to have some new toys and furniture here; the smell of my piss and barf on everything is starting to bother even me. (Babs offered Skeet some pills from her own supply, which he refused...five days of withdrawal, he felt, was not something he wanted to go through again.)
Meanwhile, Boo-Boo is, once again, bouncing off the walls or was until he left at 5:30 this a.m. to bring his students on a field trip. Boo is overwhealmed by work; he may have taken on too much with the promotion and the new classes and this fucking trip. Worse, his students are a bunch of miserable little fuckwads who, despite being college age, act like they're six years old. My plan is to start spamming all their fucking Facebook pages 'til I've driven the bunch to suicide. No one fucks with my Boo but me.
So the way I see it is that one or the other should be dead or near-dead and in the hospital before Christmas. This is not good. For now, though, I've got two days of rain and Skeeter alone to get through. He promised me we would do like the last time we were left to our own devices when Boo went to Paris: curl up on the La-Z-Boy, turn up the heat and watch TV.
Shutter Island, Boardwalk Empire and some horror films are on the menu: dead humans everywhere!
Wooooooooooooot!
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