Quickness

I shouldn't be this happy. I'm pretty sure that there's a law somewhere forbidding human beings to be so perfectly content with where they are, and what they're doing, and who they're with. Which makes me illegal in at least 17 official countries.

In other news, there is a large black cat with glowing green eyes that hangs out around my apartment at night. I rather like it, simply because the creeptastic factor is so high. Friday night, for example, it crossed my path at least three times (before disappearing into thin air), which (barring thirteen times, or 666) is an unlucky number (if I believed in luck). And yet, the weekend was perfectly grand. Maybe I should leave food out for it. People used to leave food out for elves, you know, so that they wouldn't wreck havoc while the humans slept. I suppose I could just name it Albert, thereby stripping it of all malicious intent. I mean, how could you be jinxed by something named Albert?

Another random thing that happened was being accosted at my own front door by two large hulking teenagers intent on selling me magazine subscriptions, so that they could win some contest. They probably didn't realize they were looming, but it's kind of hard not to tower over a surprised midget slouching in her doorway. Anyway, they had their whole patter memorized, but it was too "delivered"--no natural pauses, no time to laugh at their jokes--just lines to be gotten out. I was so interested in how fake it sounded that I completely missed the whole point of their delivery and had to go back and ask why they were there. And after all that, I didn't subscribe to a single thing. When I did door-to-door, I hated people like me.