I just took three days away, but I've kind of been snowed under with projects. I am whittling away at each of them with the tenacity of a hungry, little termite, stress on LITTLE.
I can do it, just not all at once, and I kind of want to be able to do it all at once like I have fourteen arms. I would also like to do it like someone who did not sleep in this morning for THREE EXTRA HOURS.
Mostly, I'm just complaining.
Have you read Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck? I haven't. I don't know if I want to read it or not, because I've found Steinbeck to be hit and miss, and I don't want to plow through a snore-fest. Tell me if I should bother.
Do you like pizza? I like pizza.
There were crispy thin slices of potatoes on this pizza, which was a surprisingly brilliant stroke of food genius. Of course, my Mennonite heritage has bred a love of potatoes deep into my bones. I am naturally biased.
The macabre's a slut for me these days, and I am a sucker for her. Always on about the crows, she is, and I keep picking up what she's laying down.
Not that I actually picked up that bird leg. I did kick it into the sun, though.
This is very scatter-shot. I was going to wax nostalgic and tell you stories about grade eight, but I am in the thrall of chaos today. And yesterday. And likely tomorrow.
Luckily, I have the cutest freaking cat you've ever laid eyes on cute-ing it up for me, reminding me to slow down for a second and kiss his belly.