I stepped in a puddle

of gas.
At the station.
The fumes are...fumey.
I am now entirely pissed off that I just walked over my still-new carpet with a gassey shoe.
...better than a gassey uncle, believe me.

I woke up in the middle of the night to pee.
It's possible that what woke me were the echoes of my screams of ecstasy,
hurling back through my windows after having travelled the world.
"Possible", I said--not probable.
but awaken, I did.
And as I stumbled through my thin shroud of consciousness toward the WC,
I had one of those moments.
An isolated little spurt of sadness, and sort of desperation, I suppose.
Within the blink of a sleepy eye, I had chided myself for such self-whining and was back to normal.
It was this strange flash of the mundane order of my life...
the dishes and laundry and cooking.
Sometimes when I think of those things, I am overwhelmed with disgust--
I feel like I will surely cry or run or become immobile...
But then it passes, as I remind myself how great my life actually is.
It's a strange feeling, for that one tear-drop of a moment.
Like I'm trapped in a black and white movie,
or in someone else's shoes.
Fortunately, I know how to untie, unbuckle, remove any pair of shoes I could encounter.
And I have a paint brush, and a pallette...

So now I need to write a book.
I don't have an idea, though, and this is something I'm trying not to freak out about.
But I think it's rather panic-worthy.
I never have ideas...
they seem, rather, to have me.
Oh that's right...I already have an idea.
Good.

What a melancholy post.
(Honey dew and sheltie, please...)
I should
could
shake it up a bit.
I could tell you about the teeth rattling sex I had last night,
or the deep sense of relief I felt at finally seeing the season of Scrubs commence.
I could tell you what my husband said yesterday...
about our LIVE bird.
Yes, that'll do.
Me: Becky's going to take the bird.
Him: but why not just bury it in the backyard and be done with it?
Me: Uh...it's not dead.
Him: I know. That's hardly a requirement.
Yeah...
Ok, I think I'm plum
fresh
all
out of things to say.
Go see my feet...they've been featured.
Feet-churred.
and I'm flattered.
I forget how much I like my legs most of the time.
Damn boobs get in the way.

I'm going to go now.
multi-tasking is not my thing.
Ok, fine it is.
But it's due for a circumcision any day now...