158.333333333333% childish
Last night, over faux chicken, Erik said that we could get a kitten by my birthday! I feel like a six year old right now!
Later on, I asked him why he changed his mind - if I had made him realize that kittens aren't that much work. He said, "no, it's because you want one so badly." This means everything wrong the kitten does will be Julia's fault once-removed. Even if he doesn't make snide comments or cast blame when the kitten barfs, I'll still feel guilty and responsible, like when we brought tadpoles home and my mother said they'd die (and she'd have to clean them up) and we should take them back to the river. But we kept them because we were so much more loving than their frog mother. And then, sure enough, they died.
Regardless, a sweet little cat will more than make up for sporadic guilt, and I'm getting really good at pre-empting manipulation and blame. Last night was a very bright spot in an otherwise dismal week: the poo is hitting the fan at work. These days I'm assigned as a writer to one project at 100%, but I'm also expected to put in 25% to another project, and then I need to spend a third of my time doing administrative stuff for all the writers. Technically, the admin stuff could take up a full time job, but I just do the bare minimum to get by. This trickles down to doing "the bare minimum to get by" in all my projects. After some brief calculations, I realized I'm putting in 158.3333333333...%. Or, more realistically, I'm screwing up everything and finishing nothing.
It will be so nice to have something sweet and furry to come home to after a ridiculous day at work.
Also, it'd better be cute and not barf or die.
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