And screaming. Especially when the trains go by a couple of blocks away, blowing their horns through the several crossings here in town. I've done some calculations, and the approximate ratio of train whistle:screams is about 1:1,000,000,000. Little kids sure do love to scream.I've thought about joining them. It would be great fun to holler at the top of my lungs when the trains go through, but I'm not much of a screamer and it might hurt my voice. Maybe I'll just wave my arms and jump around instead.
But first, I'll close the blinds and doors, 'cuz NOBODY needs to see this middle aged white girl having what appears to be a very ungainly seizure. I'll let you know how it all turns out.
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It appears as though the washing machine has agitated its last. A sad day, both for me and for it. Are there any magic words to say over an unagitated washer that will bring it back to life?
Maybe I should poke it with a stick. That sure would agitate ME.
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Today I am incapable of holding a thought for more than a moment. This does not bode well for work. It's a gorgeous day, the honeysuckle is in bloom, the birds are raising a ruckus (and some little birdlings, for it is indeed Spring), and I have a heapin' helpin' of stuff to do that does NOT involve lying in my backyard staring up through the branches of the weeping willow at the clouds.
Sad, that.
This is a perfect day to play hooky, and yet I remain fettered to the professional, bound by obligation. Being an adult sucks the big one.
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Tammie and Ron and Malach have struck on a goldmine of blog fodder - the 'ask me anything' posts. I shall join them in their game, and ask you to ask ME anything atall in the comments, and I promise I will answer.
Really. Anything.
Anything at all.
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With that, I bid you aloha. Time to go get bizzee.
Dammit.
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