Tuesday, November 20, 2012

As The Mold Grows

It's a nightmare- I have two library books and both of them suck. I mean, suckarooni. Can't-read-them degree of suckiness. Last night at 3:30 a.m. in a spell of insomnia, I had to search out Mark Twain's autobiography which had been given to me awhile back and which weighs approximately 72 pounds. I'm going to read that book. I swear I am. I don't care if I have to use a device to read it in bed.

At least it's well-written.

The gray is back. The sky looks like a greasy nickel. Some bird which I cannot identify is making a horrible eerie cry, over and over again. The house lies around me like an animal begging for attention. There are baby things laying around which Gibson has already outgrown which need to be taken upstairs. I have to get at least one room upstairs ready for a possible overnighter. When my friend Liz sent me an e-mail saying she was coming to the party, she included this: "I'm going to pack my toothbrush in case some fool brings tequila."

Last night we discovered that Buster had a big blood blister on his recently operated-on ear. Then, suddenly, he shook his head and blood went flying everywhere. It was disgusting and disturbing and Mr. Moon held him with a towel clamped to his ear for a long time while he shivered and shook. I know I bitch about these dogs all the time but when that dog dies it's going to make me feel awful. Mr. Moon is going to grieve him. Owen is going to miss him. Dolly is going to wonder where her brother is.
Why do we have pets?
It's not that I want them to die. I just want someone to come and take them while I'm gone. Leave a note that says, "I have your dogs. They will be loved."

No, no. That would make me feel horribly guilty.

Oh, it's just one of those days. One of those greasy-skied days where you can't imagine that it ever looked like anything but this and you can't imagine even one egg getting laid and where you know you have things to do and you can't imagine doing them. Where the paint on the ceiling falls in big peeled-off swatches and the mold on the walls grows darker and you worry that a party guest will go into anaphylactic shock. Jessie used to have a boyfriend who was allergic to everything in this house from mold to dogs. Poor guy. He tried to grin and bear it but it was so obviously painful. I am hoping that every time Owen and Gibson are here, the exposure to such allergians will provide a lifetime of an allergy-free life. It's a theory.

I have a lot of theories. And two dogs. And two crappy library books. And a 72-pound autobiography of Mark Twain. And rehearsal tonight. And a party tomorrow night.

Time to get moving.

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. Hoping for some metaphorical penicillin ( good mold) to fight the bad mold. And maybe it will arrive in a box with an entertainingly written label. Or something. I think I will say anything right now just to keep procrastinating against the things I have to do.

  2. No one will see the mold at the party, they will only see the beauty. I love you.

  3. There is nothing worse than a bad book. I hate it when that happens, library book suckage.
    It's white here. Snow white. Morning blizzard. Yay.

  4. bits of blue in the sky here. Felix is wearing the dreaded cone of shame so he won't lick the site of his operation which is now oozing. and we have to feed him antibiotics. animals are a pain but yes, we'd miss them.

    have a great party.

    X Beth

  5. House and kids begging for attention here . . . and animals. O dear. And it's grey.
    If I leave now I could get to yours by tomorrow night. I would only need to bring tequila and toothbrush! I would happily be that fool x

  6. Only you could spin an engrossing tale of annoying dog problems and bad library books.

    I read a good novel recently that I think you'd like: "The Grief of Others" by someone with the last name Hagar? Not the most intellectual thing but definitely readable and nice writing --

  7. The weather says partly cloudy tomorrow, but then clear clear at night and in the 40s - perfect for the party.

  8. rehersal? did i miss something? are you doing another play?

  9. I am sure i have shared my theory of reading books before. If I don't like it I don't finish it because there are millions of books out there waiting to be read.

    Those dogs. You are a better person that I am Ms. Moon. I would have sent them packing a long time ago.

  10. I don't finish the ones that are bad. Many more books to be read.

    I love the dogs so much that it's hard for me to see them age and then die. I grieve also.

  11. Well, at least you have a full agenda! That's a good thing. What are your two sucky library books? Inquiring minds want to know.

  12. I love that greasy nickel metaphor. Our skies were just that yesterday; flat, drab, crude and dark like a nickle slicked with thick and dirty motor oil. No rainbows.


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