I had planned to spend the entire day in seclusion, alone in my apartment with the cat, the tv, the computer, the internet, and A Fine Balance, which I have decided to read for the fifth time, and maybe finish a section of the world's next literary masterpiece. This is partly because even by this tender Wednesday, Snobby has so far had an unusually active week. It's also partly in preparation for a rambunctious weekend à la québécoise.

But my Evil Imperialist Landowners have decided to redo the floors of the place below me. My apartment is awash with woozy fumes on my "day off" and I'm beginning to get a little high. My reality is beginning to get warped to such an extent that I actually believed for a few minutes that my cat was trying to communicate with me. This is, of course, ridiculous since cats don't care whether or not humans can actually speak, as long as the food is delivered, the water changed, and the poop scooped.

The backs of my eyeballs are vibrating.