I know. Right?
God. I'm just pissy. If I were still having periods, which I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT! I would call myself PMS'ing. As it is, I am just crazy.
No reason. None at all. Beautiful day. Beautiful fucking day and it's like 73 degrees and although my CD player which is in my pocket all the time, broke, which rendered me completely useless because I am incapable of doing anything around here without a book in my ear, I found another old one stashed in the closet that by some miracle of GOD and all the angels and possibly Tesla, works, and so I can't even blame that and I took a walk and that went fine, all the blue sky and warm breezes absolutely pissing me off because hey! I'm in a bad mood. Stop being so fucking gorgeous, north Florida.
And obviously, my sentence writing abilities have disappeared somewhere in the blackhole night where I had horrible dreams that I'm not even going to grace with reporting as to details because they were appalling and maybe that's why I'm in such a bad mood.
Damn. Stupid camellias blooming their hearts out, got this picture from Lily this morning
Hell. I might as well just get over myself and go with the beauty of the day, the sweetness of the boy and the baby, the miracle of finding an operable CD player, and even the fact that someone went out and yelled at those stupid dogs and they are no longer barking.
Make the bed, clean up the kitchen, fill up the chicken-waterer, trim some more dead plants, water the plants in the house and on the porch, go to the store, remember that I am but one human being in the eternal list of human beings dead or alive, eat some leftovers, celebrate Rebecca's retirement, the submission of Elizabeth's work in progress to a publisher, even the successful catch of a lizard by Jack, the ballswingin' cat.
And now there's a freaking cardinal, red as Satan's soul, atop the bird feeder. Prettiest thing you ever saw.
I give up.