I got a hell of a lot of contract reports to write this month. The average report is a hundred pages; takes me three days because I gotta get at least three hours sleep. I can't type much when I'm eating so I loose another half hour or so.
My boys're good, but they can't write worth a damn. They give me all the data and they can make adequate tables and graphs, but I still gotta do most of the thinking and almost all of the writing.
I just don't have time to mow the damn grass.
I wrote a cheque to Mr. Self-Appointed-Yard-Monitor for 10K and told him to get the damn yard cut any way he felt like. I told him he could fill the whole thing in with concrete if he liked.
He looked plenty pissed.
But he took the damn cheque.
I didn't bother to ask him if my damn cat was still alive.
I think I heard some kind of engines out there yesterday, but I don't know if they cut the yard, plowed it under, or covered it with ashphalt. I can't be bothered going to the window to see.
My cough is getting bad. Maybe it's the mold from all the old pizza boxes. I oughtta throw them out in the front yard. Then the damn neighbors could carry them away when they do my gardening. I oughtta get something useful for ten Gs.
The damn neighbor sure gave me the juju eyeball when I opened the door. I should put some proper clothes on before I see people, but the sores on my back and legs keep weeping pus and it makes the clothes stick to them. I should do something about that some time.
I just don't have any damn time. I gotta deliver another six reports before the end of the month.
On top of that, Nyte Phyter has been fucking up. I'm going to have to round up a posse of enforcers and get him. I can't trust Black Phibre to do it. He's been getting too cozy with NP lately.
I just don't have any damn time.