Song Lyric of the Day:
I wait for the day to break me / I wait for the day to break me / I look up to the sky / I look up to the sky / I look back on my life / I look back on the life that graced me
Nina Gordon / “The Time Comes”
11:35AM.
Hell’s Belle
My fattest cat, Belle, is also my wiliest. She’s at the vet right now getting a check-up, but when I went to catch her this morning to put her in her crate, you would’ve thought she was Paris Hilton and I was an L.A. jailer, she ran so fast. I finally caught her after a two-floor chase that involved our spiral staircase, chairs, and the TV stand. Very cloak-and-dagger.
Calling All Technosexuals
Any Mac users out there who’ve hit the proverbial wall with the “Your startup disk is full so you’re screwed” problem? I spent a significant chunk of last night deleting things to get my disk cleaned up. Eight gigs down, countless ones to go. My friend Caren recommends an external hard drive, and I’m also thinking about buying more memory. Any recommendations? Because I’m not going to stop taking pictures or adding music to my iTunes library anytime soon.
More random thoughts later today…
3:35PM.
Rain, Rain Go Away
It’s all rainy and ugly outside right now. It’s making me wish I were home, curled up on the couch with a book. I’ll have to make a point of doing that tonight: planting myself with a book (I’m currently reading Simple Genius by David Baldacci). Assuming I can resist the lure of more TiVoed Bones episodes. Oh, yeah, and Lost.
9:34PM.
It Came From the Fridge
After cleaning out our refrigerator, I’ve come to the realization that Rich and I shouldn’t be allowed to buy perishable, refrigerated foods. We buy things with the intention of, oh, eating them, and instead allow things to evolve into weird science projects and less intelligent life forms. I’m pretty sure I saw Jessica Simpson waving at me from behind a five-month-old vat of sour cream.
Of course, Snoops and Caleb were trolling, desperately hoping I’d drop something — anything — that they would then greedily snatch up and eat, fungus be damned.
“That tomato was supposed to be squishy like that! The mold makes it yummier! So what if the last time you remember making burgers was January? Throw ’em here!”
That kind of longing for rancid food is exactly why I imagine if I were a dog, I’d be an anorexic one.
