Monday: Really excited about tomorrow’s Kill List meeting.
Tuesday: Kill List Meeting day! Whoopie! Kill that guy! Kill that guy! Kill that guy! What about this guy? No evidence at all? Who cares? Add ‘em to the list!
Wednesday: Why can’t EVERY day be Tuesday, Mom?
Thursday: My God, Tuesday is so far away.
Friday: I’m in love. With my Kill List!
Saturday: Can’t we just fucking kill someone WITHOUT the list? Please, Mom? PLEASE!
Sunday: God’s day. And the Lord said goeth into every land where men weareth turbans and ladies weareth maskeths and bombeth them with absolute awesomeness and letteth the violenceth raineth downeth upon their headeths- No, I know it’s not Tuesday, Mom, but a boy can dream…
Monday: Who is this? Citi? Citi who? C’mon. Mom?
Tuesday: City? Which city? Like Cincinnati?
Wednesday: Money? Who owes cities money?
Thursday: Ah, I see. Like the debtor service.
Friday: Please hold, I’m in love.
Saturday: Not until evening will Charity Case think of the impending City call, the thing on its way, time spent in the shadow of the wing of the thing too big to be seen, rising- Oh yes, sorry, I thought I was still on hold.
Sunday: God’s day to rest and give Caesar his due(s). Yes, my child/debtor service employee, even God is in debt to Caesar. … Oh, you work on that account, too? Good for you!
Monday: Do I have a story? I just woke up.
Tuesday: Yes, you have a story. You’ve been talking to the dog for three days.
Wednesday: Just because I’m talking to the dog doesn’t mean it’s a story. He’ll listen to anything.
Thursday: He won’t listen to just anything. He likes pastoral stories. Stories of struggle. Stories of peril. Stories of human connection and-
Friday: Stories about witnessing my bathetic ennui. Saturday: He just walked away from me.
Sunday: Ask him why! Get the recorder and ask him why!
Monday: Darkness on the face of the waters.
Wednesday: Wrote apology letter to all of Fallujah.
Thursday: Study, brief interruptions for love/flossing.
Friday: Prayers, day of rage, bed early.
Saturday: No Sir, that is not mine.
Sunday: Fasted. Then breakfasted.
Monday: Bread and gravy.
Tuesday: Gravy and bread.
Wednesday & Thursday: Gravy on toast. Friday: Rye bread and gravy.
Saturday: Whole wheat instead.
Sunday: The treat. We never get meat. We get gravy (so delicious!) gravy. Without any bread.
Monday: After cursing the copier and hanging his head, E.D.S. shrieks ‘Yikes!’ when he sees the enormous rat-trap on the floor next to jlc’s Wurlitzer organ.
Tuesday: jlc (having forgotten his phone at home) actually uses a phone-booth, having to ask for quarters and read the number from the ink on his palm.
Wednesday: E.D.S. calls the manufacterer of Charity Case’s copier and spends the rest of the night hoarding the Tums.
Thursday: JPC finds that chocolate, if given enough time, will melt on your finger the same as candle-wax.
Friday: Having tasted the worst cup of coffee to her recollection, T.Tawks cleans the coffee-maker three times with vinegar & water and prepares another pot, only to discover that the milk had gone bad.
Saturday: After having had significant trouble working the copier, jlc is found hunched in his bed like a wet blanket holding a steak-knife. E.D.S., finding jlc, lunges at him, grabbing the knife and screaming, ‘Me first!’ Also, Jon finished Far Cry 2 and almost completed reading through the edits.
Sunday: Comin down.