I was awake until after two last night. My knees. What the hell is happening with my knees?
I finally got up and finished one book and started another. I am not even going to tell you what that book is.
(I Am Ozzy, written (haha!) by Ozzie Osbourn. So sue me. I got it out of the library. Ozzy's the only person I know who says fuck more than I do. I respect this.)
When I did finally get to sleep, I SLEPT. Did not wake up when Mr. Moon got out of bed way before dawn showed its face to go hunting with Jason. Got up at 8:30. Not respectable, but still, the best I could do.
The party is tonight. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. (Trying to keep perspective here.)
When I left for rehearsal last night, Jessie and Mr. Moon were cleaning. Mr. Moon was cleaning!
The Shop Vac was involved.
When I finally went to back to bed, Jessie and Vergil were still video-chatting.
When I got up, the coffee wasn't made. I had set it. But it wasn't made. I tried to start it. It wouldn't start. I unplugged, I reprogrammed, I restarted.
My house was dark and my pots were cold.
Okay. Poetic license.
I made a cup of tea.
I started the old percolator. That thing takes about forty-five minutes to make three cups of coffee. Oh well. Where am I going?
To town, obviously. Well, I needed to go anyway. But I wasn't planning on going to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Which is where I suppose I need to go.
Quick-quick- tell me what your favorite coffee maker is! I don't grind beans. Sorry. I need it to be programmable. Does Fisher Price make a coffee maker? And the pot, she must pour nicely.
All right. That's all I have to say now. The cowboy coffee (that's what we call what comes out of the percolator) is ready. It's scalding hot and delicious. More than one way to bait a hook, skin a cat, build a fence, make coffee.
Happy Day Before Thanksgiving.
Drink your coffee. Thaw your turkey.
Be sweet. Don't sin.