I was in a play and I had none of the usual dream-play panic. No, it was going along very well and I do believe we were doing some Stephen King thing and Steve himself was the director and I felt like he was happy with what I was doing and I was even getting paid and had just gotten a raise and all was well until...my mother walked in the door.
"Mom!" I said. "You're two hours early AND YOU'RE DEAD!"
Turns out that no, she wasn't dead, she'd just faked all that stuff and here she was to see me in a play but she still had the dementia and couldn't tell us where she'd been and she looked perfectly fine.
Boy, was I pissed.
I don't think I need to say anything more about that, thank you very much.
I drank coffee like it was my job for about an hour and a half, had a smoothie, took the trash, put on my permanently stinkified walking clothes and went out and started my daily self-induced torture and it was. It was too fucking hot and I felt like I might die and my hackles were up for the entire walk which is very unusual and I changed up my route and I forced myself to keep going because, well, what were the options there? Lay down in the dirt?
I did come across some absolutely darling little baby black-eyed daisies of some sort and I picked a few to bring home and make a bouquet out of, using one of the many tiny old bottles we've found in this yard as a vase.
Anyway, la-di-dah and who doesn't love the miniature? Check out Messy Nessy's post from this morning about someone who has taken the concept of miniaturization to a whole new level. It's HERE.
All right. I ain't got nothing to say. I'm alive. So are you if you're reading this.
Happy Friday, y'all.