Escaped, triumphant, from the office at 3:30 on Friday, barely pausing to violate my hug sanctions with my officemates, not sure I got all the personal stuff off the computer, striding back to BART in the certain knowledge that I am done forever (or the next five months) with commuting, two trains, scenery, traffic light, up the hill and home to the welcoming front porch where I realized my keys, sullen defectors, had remained behind.
Fuuuuuuck.
Ohhhhhh! Fuck!
That’s awful.
this is a story of faux-fuck.
oh.
then I guess I’d better take back my empathy.
I knew it wasn’t Friday…
Damn, I feel foolish falling so quickly and so hard for didofoot’s razor sharp-wit and compelling syntax.
But also glad that if did not happen.
no, no this did happen. i think she means it’s faux in that there is no actual sex in this story. kati, fall away. michele, stop spreading doubt seeds willy-nilly like this.
i am a sower of discord, i am, i am.