Out of sheer obligatory responsibility, I contacted the ex, yesterday, and informed him that I took our daughter to the ER. Surprisingly enough, he was rather okay with it, and actually thanked me for letting him know.

*brow raised suspiciously* I give that marriage maybe one more year. Hopefully, he'll grow bored with her, hook up with some cracked-out gutter-slut, and develop some pot-induced epiphany that being chained to two kids is more work than he expected. It's a horrible thing to wish for, but then again, I'm a horrifically self-centered individual.

Anywho.

Backtracking a little to Friday afternoon, when Jilly and I picked up the kids at the ex's house, the hippie was alone. The kids ran outside in their usual higgedly-piggedly chaos, and Jilly shouted HI at the girls as I strapped them in. When I finally got behind the steering wheel, Jilly muttered through the side of her mouth: what the hell did I do to her? If looks could kill...

Oh, don't worry, I assured her. Nothing. You're just guilty by association, that's all.

So now, here I am, fucking off again when I should be working on something important. Well, according to Life's big priorities, it's not NUMERO UNO on the imperative chain-factor. But it's work-related. I was roped into slapping up a North Carolina Smokies-themed mural for our department-heads. Alas--in fifteen minutes--I'm supposed to be, once again, back at the office on a weekend.

It's a damned good thing I actually like my job.