The raccoon is tired, too

I'm watching the end of The Doors right now. I've never seen the movie, starring Val Kilmer, before, and got totally caught up in it a few days ago. I had to stop watching with about 45 minutes left -- a toddler will do that to you -- so recorded the end of it. I don't think I knew that he died in the bathtub. I knew he died in Paris, and is buried at Pere Lachaise cemetery. (Once upon a time, Julia and I wandered Paris and its outlying areas for the weekend. We had planned on visiting Pere Lachaise to see Jim Morrison's final resting place. We arrived there five minutes past the cemetery's closing time. We took a picture of the outside perimeter wall, and then went down the street to The Hard Rock Cafe and got hammered.) I dislike it when I learn more about a historical personage and they end up being off-putting. I'll say that about Morrison ... having just seen the movie.
I had the opportunity to bitch out Auntie Donna's former apartment manager earlier this evening. Her voice mail is blistering, I tell you! The woman had been nothing but rude and unhelpful, and tried to cheat us out of some $85. We finally got the last of the deposit refund, and a rudely written letter, today. And I finally had the woman's phone number, and I called it. It felt good to spew on someone, as I'm not permitted to spew that often, and the fact that this lady actually deserved it, was gravy.
I'm tired, and I've got a lot to do tomorrow.