I don't hate Hillary Clinton

She doesn't look scary.

I don't like her. Never have. But I don't hate her. If I drove and she was in front of my car, I would brake.

Which is why last night's dream scared me. I was trying to pay my property taxes in person -- something I always do electronically -- and the government employee behind the desk was HRC. Only she wasn't. I mean, in dream world, she wasn't Bill's wife, a former First Lady, Senator and Secretary of State. She was a garden variety bureaucrat.

And she was so mean to me! Just unremittingly nasty. She let my check fall to the floor on her side of the desk and denied she ever had it. In dream world, I was going to be evicted because of mean old Hillary Clinton!

Remind me to never again fall asleep watching Presidential debates.

The perfect message for pay day

Sometimes I hate my job.

My boss has been an absentee landlord for the last few weeks. He bought a new house and the move didn't go as planned, so two days off turned into a whole week. So I got to do his work. A very complicated, six-page brochure.

Now he's back, but his head isn't in it. He's getting ready for an anniversary cruise and his wife lost her passport. He had to go to the Federal Building to get the replacement -- His wife can't do it? Is she Lucy Riccardo? -- and he likes to take the 4:30 train, and hell, he won't be here next week anyway, so I can just do that project, too. Why not?

It wouldn't bother me so much if the extra effort, and the extra stress, were acknowledged. But they're not.

That's what the money is for.