abracanabra | Dipping Through a Day's Thoughts (Reply)

Watching a squirrel sunbathe is remarkably restful, even though I did start to wonder whether he was actually dead.

Though I love clouds and gray days, they lasted for too long. The sight of blue sky gladdens my heart. I suppose that makes me fickle.

The cat's are all like, "Sun? What the hell's that?" Nameless has taken to prowling windowsills, and Foundling flops down on the hardwood floor in the middle of patches of sun.

Huh. Just called 911 on "some dude just climbed in through the window of that house across the alley."

And as quickly as it came, the blue sky seems to be going away.

Writing a scene involving blueberry pancakes makes me really want to make blueberry pancakes. Unfortunately, I have no blueberries. Curse you, grocery-shopping man!

Curry's even better the second day. Tasty redcurrymushroomsbeefpeasbambooshootscrushedtomatos. Mmm.

I need to get actual fabric-cutting scissors.

I opened one of the porch windows, and now Foundling's even more of a crazed must-get-on-porch! critter.

Nameless has somewhat joined him, too.

Blue sky is back!

Am being daring and opening a few windows to air the house out. Foundling's freaked. Most of what the kitten remembers is winter. He's sprinting from open window to open window.

Curse you, words! Why are there so many of you, when you are most marketable at under 5,000????

Feeling healthy enough for work again tomorrow, TSD again on Thursday, and fit as a fiddle for the party on Saturday.

Figured out what gardening-type stuff Chesh could do for photoshoot. It's quite messy. It'll be adorable.

"If you don't like the weather, wait an hour." This damn phrase has been haunting me for the last week, following me around like a puppy with fleas. I finally put it into "Ice Mother"--hopefully, it'll leave me alone now.

Judging by the stockpile of cans of fruit in the pantry, the Muse is planning on producing a plethora of blender drinks. Houston, we will need more rum. Fortunately, when it comes to rum, the Muse provideth. The Muse also taketh away, but that's another story.

No fair having the phone ring, making me run downstairs, and then giving me the dial-tone. That's the telephonic equivalent of flipping somebody off.

I think it was my boss checking to see if I was good to work tomorrow, as he called immediately afterward.

Hmm. There are a number of contenders for the "longest sentence EV4R!" in "Ice Mother." I'll kill them later.

Oof. Must make cleaning list for before party. Things are not that bad, but certain things need to be taken care of. Working full time and being sick have kind of derailed my schedule.

Note to Self: Yes, they would still consider a beautiful mural graffiti, even if it *did* stop gang tagging.

Am annoyed by all the martial arts B.S. posturing that goes on, in my own style as well as others.

Forgot which way the sewing machine feed works. Again. For the umpteenth time. Also decided that if the Muse wants anything ironed, ever, he can do it his own damn self. Fortunately, he has shown no inclination towards having things ironed.

Is sewing one's own clothing a good economic alternative anymore? Does it even apply, since we're approaching "jeans and a tank-top" weather, and I'm for damn sure not sewing jeans? And I'm certainly not capable of sewing winter clothes.

Close windows. Unplug shredder, plug in light, put down curtain. Prepare for evening.

Is there such a thing as too much specificity in writing? Assuming no abuse of adverbs/adjectives and no undue lengthening of prose? Are there circumstances in which 'shoe' is better than 'sneaker' or 'loafer' or 'boot', for example? Am I being lazy or just not stressing the brain of the reader when I don't pursue specificity to the nth degree?

Is there even a single correct answer to the above questions?

I think brownies and wine go together well. Yes. I shall make brownies. Along with cheese and crackers and fruit and veggies, that should do well. Yes? Yes. Chips and dip just don't seem overly stylish, though, plus they have an increased chance of catastrophically ruining somebody's nice clothes.

So many songs these days are reminding me of the "The Fifth Element" soundtrack.

Is it really wrong to compare a toe to a flasher's penis?

Nope, I absolutely cannot use the phrase "sly pseudo-consideration." It's just ugly.

Muse's home. "Why is this radiator so ass-scorchingly hot?" he asks plaintively.

While foraging for food: "I think this should be thrown away." "That's still good--I didn't make the green curry that long ago." "Oh, that's the green curry!" "Yes. There's some other green stuff in the fridge, though, that I don't know what it is." "That's what I was looking for to throw away! It's the green stuff from when you made something-or-other." "I don't believe you, 'cause I don't recognize it." "You did it." "I don't believe you!"

He's going to sleep right after dinner, to force me to call people about what they're bringing. Woozy-headed bastard.

I thought I was going for one moral with "Ice Mother," but I seem to be producing another. I'm confused.... Hint: it's really bad when the writer is confused.

"You're the intruder. Get your own precious beer!" Out of context? Ridiculous (AND YES, THAT'S HOW IT'S SPELLED. REALLY. 'REDICULOUS' AIN'T A WORD!!!!!!) Mmm...precious beer....

Is that my husband meowing? Yes, it is. But he's just trying to catch a kitten.

Good God can

chesh clean. Like a lot. I'm still confused and a little suspicious about her randomly showing up and cleaning my house. But grateful! Very, very grateful!

I don't wanna go to sleep....

And now you will never wonder how my brain works again. For fear of being answered.

Actually, this was kind of fun. To write, at least. I don't know what you poor bastards think, the ones who made it this far.