(no subject)

This is not the way to start out a vacation.

I had an enormous amount of trouble sleeping last night. Corb was working overnight, so I was all alone, and the cat kept grabbing at this cheap shiny necklace Tiger picked up at the laundrymat. So that's all I heard last night: Scramble scramble, ching ching ching.

Needless to say, I woke up at 11. There's still a lot to do around here before we can leave. My friend Joyce will be taking care of the place while I'm gone, and the big bedroom still needs to look decent. I have stuff to drop of to Josie, clothes to clean, and I need to drive to Bridgewater to pick up the checks from our refinancing. Plus, stuff to pick up at CVS, a list to make for Joyce, packing...boy, do I feel underprepared.

(no subject)

Well, we're here.

It only took us until 5:30 to get our act together and get out of North Eldredge. Then, of course, we had to pick up some tunes, so we dropped by Strawberry's. I picked up The Essential Bob Dylan , and Corb chose Anna Nalick.

And now we're here. We're just relaxing now, watching one of the classic movies of our time. Which one? I'll give you a hint: who can forget the first time they ever heard the immortal words, "Go back to whore island, you whore"...

In the middle of the ride, I could feel Thumbkin take over my body, and I started singing in his distinctive voice. It was an errie feeling. But, even stranger than that, Corb then felt possessed by the spirit of Thumbkin, and started biting my hand and neck.

Dammit! Where in the hell is Tituba when you need her?

I'm going to do a little reading now. I have a great book. No, it's not that Harry Potter thing. It's Sick Puppy , by Carl Hiassen. The cover appealed to me, but the twisted storyline and politics are appealing to me even more.