No Theme. No Theme At All

Another beautiful, hot, humid morning here in North Florida.
The firespike has begun to bloom. I'd walk ten feet and take a picture but I'm already too enervated by the heat and humidity. My plan today is to do some outside work but I'm not really feeling too enthusiastic about that.
I seem to have acquired a new set of chigger bites.
The fun just never ends around here, does it?

I have almost forgotten that I have a husband. Mr. Who? I have no idea how much longer he and the guys are going to be down there in Tate's Hell hunting alligators. Maybe forever. Maybe he's left me and is planning on becoming a professional alligator hunter and he just hasn't informed me of this plan yet.
It's getting to the point that when he comes home (if he comes home) I'll be like, Who are you, you big giant man-person and why in the world do you expect me to do your laundry?
Can you even imagine the laundry that's going to come back here to this house?
No. You probably cannot unless you are in an intimate relationship with a hunter.

He's been really sweet about calling and texting but that's so disembodied. And it's all so alien to me. "We're on our way to Panama City to buy a new light."
What?
They're sleeping during the day and hunting at night and hell, I can't even imagine what they're doing.
There are a lot of strip clubs in Panama City. Not that I think they went to one but I'm just saying.

Alien. Anything could be going on and I wouldn't be too shocked.

Men.

There was a man sitting at a table in the dining room of the Wakulla Springs lodge yesterday who may have been God. He looked like God. He was pretty old and he had long white hair and a long white beard and he was sitting in a ray of light, reading.
I think he may have been God. Really. In my mind, I'm going to make him God. He didn't look overly happy or overly sad, either one. He was just reading. I was afraid to look at him too much. Biblically, such an action can be dangerous. Looking into the face of God. I could have burst into flames although if I can believe that a man sitting at a table is God, I can believe that looking upon his countenance can only bring peace. I don't know why but I keep thinking about him.
Which makes me feel sort of peaceful.

I told Jessie and Vergil this morning that I am going to hell. This was because of something rude I said about someone I shouldn't have said anything rude about.
Jessie said, "We know, Mom."
You have no idea how mean I actually am.
No idea at all.

Well, sometimes when I sit down and start writing, a thought forms and a theme is found but today, obviously, this is not going to happen. I think I'll eat some pancakes. Today they have flax, peaches, blueberries, bananas, pecans and buttermilk in them.

Sunday. Hell, it's almost lunch time. Getting plenty hot enough outside to go and do some yard work. The mosquitoes are probably really working up an appetite.
On my tombstone (if I had one, which I won't) they could write, "She made good pancakes and fed the mosquitoes. She is in hell now."

Happy Sunday, y'all.

Love from The Church of the Batshit Crazy where we pass the syrup rather than the collection plate.
It works for us.