phantom kick to the gut

I just stepped outside for a cigarette and paid for it in a couple of ways:

1. I'm feeling something of a cold coming on - one of those shit colds where you can taste crap in the back of your throat/slight, slight fever/pressure in your head/general irritablity.

2. There was a yorkie out on the front lawn. I hate that. I see one and am compelled to walk up and get a closer look and to speak to the owner, and still get that phantom kick to the gut. Thank you, bad memories, for staying. Regarding that: I guess I got my digs in (which doesn't make me happy. At all), and the girl doesn't win and doesn't get to know me anymore (which doesn't make her happy). We both lose. Walk on... forget... life goes on... occasional reminder. I'm sure that everytime she sees this building she thinks of me/knows I'm inside.

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Last night's debate was a Kerry success. I haven't gotten one piece of republican propaganda from the family today. You'd have to be just plain stubborn to think that Bush made any impact last night. I read some line of shit blaming Bush's spending the day visiting hurricane victims for his poor performance. Whatever, spin-meister... he came off as an oafish, stubborn, rhetoric-spitting dumbass. Or, the very thing he's been pegged for the last two years.

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Mysterios is gone. All of the bullshit from his cubicle has been cleared out. That blows. A consistantly interesting person has left the building for good. Now I have to find another partner in crime.

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Is any of this getting any better? I don't think so.