I Am Called, But The Phone Fucks Up

Loretta Nall writes me and says she's planning on lunching where I work tomorrow at noon. Dammit. I have brainwashing class until noon-thirty (oh, the irony -- I can't have lunch with a libertarian candidate for governor because the state has mandated that I attend twice-weekly lessons in powerlessness). She includes her cell phone number, so I call and leave her a message, explaining my dilemma. I say that I'm up late, so feel free to call.

A few minutes later, the phone rings.

"It's Loretta," a husky voice with a smile in it says when I answer. Well, hey there. "Can you hear me OK? You're coming through all garbled. My phone's fucked up. I'll call you right back." Click.

She never called. Those flighty libertarians.

And so off to bed. I'll just go to brainwashing in work clothes, and then directly to work. Maybe I'll see her there. I'm turning in the last six of my required AA meeting signatures, so I'm hoping to see light at the end of this brainwashing tunnel. Like, Thursday.

And then I can go back to smoking crack and shooting heroin in my neck.