Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Jury duty...

I was supposed to have jury duty today. I was looking forward to it. Whenever you tell anyone you have to go, they make weird sounds and tell you how sorry they are; and they offer advice, like, bring a book.

Well, I like it. I want to get a trial one day. But even not getting one, I still like it. Sure, you have to read and do puzzles and wait a lot. But it's my civic duty. I was even thinking about volunteering at some point. But I got another summons instead. My husband says they like housewives who don't have anything else to do, so maybe I'll get another summons soon.

But I called last night and they told me not to come. So I guess I have to do my normal things today.

I realized why I had that dream about my old cat Tiger. I needed new spoons. Seriously. We always seem to run out of spoons before the next batch is clean. So I went to the Walmart to get some more spoons. I was reminded of having to get more spoons when Tiger was getting old.

The vet said her jaw was very weak and she had to eat moist cat food. I don't even want to go into the logistics of feeding one old batty cat moist food while trying to feed three fat cats dry. Please.

Anyway, we never had enough spoons then because not only did Tiger have to eat moist, she had to eat about four times a day. She was really tiny and couldn't eat much in one sitting. So I needed some extra spoons.

I found these cheap, thin, metal spoons at Walmart and they became known as the cat spoons or Tiger spoons and no one wanted to use them for anything. I, personally, wouldn't want to use them because they were crappy. But the boys didn't want to use them because they were used for cat food, even though they went through the dishwasher every day.

So, there I was in the Walmart looking at spoons with my son and husband and we all remembered the crappy Tiger spoons. And then that night, I dreamed about Tiger. In some ways I miss that chatty old pain in the ass.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Monday morning...

I can't tell if I just woke up in a bad mood, or if getting on the scale this morning did it. It's way too early to be up, for one thing. But it's a Zumba morning. And I had another dream about Tiger. This time there were many other cats too. In the dream I was visiting my mother, who lived in an apartment. And I apparently just picked up this cat from a shelter, but it was Tiger. And I had trouble keeping her in the box. Just prior to this dream I had another dream about either Huckleberry or Squeakers. I was outside somewhere, on a big dirt hill, and the cat escaped. And I had to go down the hill and get him and then climb back up with him and put him in a box and into the car.

I got Tiger in a carrier, and then into the apartment. And suddenly all my other cats were there. I didn't have a litter box or litter. So I got ready to walk to the Albertson's a few yards away. For some very odd reason, I was putting plastic baggies on my feet. And then I woke up. And I'm not in a good mood.

I'm in one of those sad moods. I miss Danny. And I'm getting old. And I don't want to end up like my mother. And life is this awful thing and dying is both relief and horrifying. I know it will pass; it always does. But I have to endure it until it does.

Oh, and I couldn't get the damn heater in the bathroom to turn on and there's a beeping phone somewhere in the room.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


It's Saturday. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to blog on Saturday. It's not like I plan to get any writing done today. I have Zumba, and then I have to clean the kitchen so we can BBQ chicken. I always have to clean the kitchen in the morning because of the teenager who is a slob and for the life of him can't keep himself from leaving dishes in the sink.

But I can't blame it all on him. I didn't do dishes at all yesterday, so they stacked up there on the counter over the dishwasher and in the sink. Because, let's face it, no one else can empty the dishwasher without being asked to do it. It's like, my job.

I had a dream last night that there were about eight big men out on our lawn finishing up some kind of work for us. I drove down the driveway, head first, in something of a tiny invisible car. The guys liked my car though. They parted their crowd for me to pass (because apparently now they were in the street at the edge of the driveway. And then I realized I forgot my purse and had to go back. And all the men were going inside too, for water and a bit of clean up I gues.

Some of them followed me in the kitchen door and when I opened it, there were cats. One of them was my old cat Tiger who died last year. But I was calling her by another name, until my brain registered that it was Tiger and then I picked her up and called her Tiger.

Very strange dream. I do not recall if there were dishes in the sink.

Friday, February 18, 2011

No poop for you...

This morning I couldn't find my blog list in my favorites. I stared at it for a while trying to figure out what happened to it. I was so confused. I finally realized that somehow I'd scrolled down and the first several of my favorites weren't showing.

Am I tired? I don't think so. I'm sure I conked out early last night and still slept until 7:15. But my eyes feel blurry. It could be the anticipation of pancakes.

I had 20 emails this morning. Again mostly junk. But it looks like Sarah Palin is pissed off about something having to do with breastfeeding. I'll have to look at that one.

A friend on facebook said that her fifth child is gnawing the crap out of her boobs and she's considering weaning him early. I think he's about 8-months old. I told her that I weaned mine early. Once they started in the with the teeth and biting, it was time for real food. I wonder what Palin's problem is. Biting?

Well, my pancakes are almost ready, so I'll have to keep today's blog short. And I didn't even have a chance to mention poop. (Oops, there I did it.)

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Sleeping in...

I was still in bed when my husband left for work this morning. He came to give me a good-bye kiss and wanted to know what happened to getting up early. It's too hard, I told him. Bed is always at its best in the morning. So I didn't get up until 7:37 and only then because of the bathroom thing. When you gotta go, you gotta go. And if it's after 7:30, what's the point of going back to bed?

I had 22 emails this morning and none of them were anything special. I get more junk mail via email than regular mail anymore.

The house was freezing! 71 degrees. I had to turn the heat on.

This is going to be the most boring blog ever.

Okay, I have my Diet Coke and Cheerios, that ought to spice things up.

I remember a long time ago, watching a news report about a man who wrote down literally every thing he did all day every day. He'd write things like: ate beans, watched television, went to the bathroom. You have to wonder where behavior like that comes from. I mean, is excessive journaling an obsessive compulsive disorder?

You know how those people take their cameras and video recorders on vacation and spend the entire time looking through a lens? They're watching their vacation more than having it. It's like actually having it would be too intimate so they have to put a barrier between themselves and relaxation under the guise of having memories of it. But what are their memories going to be of? Taking video of other people playing on the beach?

I think that man is the same way only with life. Somehow he became so obsessed with documenting his life, he stopped living it.

Maybe that's what I'm doing here...on one of my four blogs. I hope not. But I have to admit, this morning, when I sat down to face the blank page, I considered chronicling my every move this morning. But I knew that wasn't the purpose of this blog. Each blog has a purpose. This blog's purpose is to get me writing first thing in the morning here in sunny Florida. Because a writer writes. It's as simple as that. And if you start out your day carving the groove you want to be in, it's so much easier to continue that way.

So, pull up your computer screen and sip your Diet Coke and enjoy every morning. (Every morning? Maybe.) That is...if the groove you're looking for every morning is reading how other people get into their grooves.

There, that wasn't so bad. I was going to write about poop. Aren't you glad I didn't write about poop? Maybe tomorrow I will write about poop.