I’m so mad at Mike that I won’t even write what I’m thinking about him right now. I’ll save it for the ears of those special few (you know who you are) who are kind enough to listen to my rants in person.
Its amazing how a meeting with your CPA who suggests (and rightly so) closing one of your businesses followed by a meeting with a sympathetic, but realist banker who says that you need to make 25% on your assets/year to maintain your present lifestyle can really piss a person off.
Suffice it to say that peanut butter jars are amazing. A grown woman can throw one with all of her strength against a wall fifteen feet away, and the damn thing just bounces onto the floor. Not even a crack or a chip.
It is unfortunate that my anger coincides with the day that I was planning to begin building the installation piece in honor of Mike’s life for the Day of the Dead exhibit.
The only fitting thing I can think to do for it right now is to scroll in ugly black letters some words that would not be appropriate for an exhibit that children will be viewing.