Next Week This Blog Will Get More Interesting, I Promise

The fact is, the stuff occurring in my creative brains these days has been tragically boring, and I haven't a darned thing to write about. How does that happen, I wonder? Should I be concerned? Do you think? I don't know, is there a surgical procedure for this?

Here is what I can tell you.

It has been delightfully dreary outside all the danged day long. It was a very productive atmosphere to my brain boringness, as rain clouds generally are, you know, with the cocooniness and such.

I got a call from a realtor the other day, saying she was bringing by some house hunters between 2 and 3 this afternoon. Like having your cable installed only you have to be OUT of the house. I did all the things you do under such circumstances. Sweep the floors, hide the electronics and jewelry. . . And you know how when you wake up and clean straight off, you're usually not dressed? Something about that, huh? So this part will not surprise you: She arrived a half hour early! Isn't that sort of crazy? Luckily I was dressed and able to get the dogs out of the house as she was pulling into my drive or else, well, I don't know what else. See? Because of my cocoony brain bits and all.

She asked if she was early and I said yes and that I was just leaving and she laughed and said "Oh, packing up the kids!" as I stuffed various dog parts through my open car door. I smiled at her and got in the car, shut the car door on my jacket, had dogs bouncing all over me, reopened the car door to retrieve my errant jacket corner, reshut the door, took a deep breath, drove two houses down the street, parked, and waited.

You know what is sort of frustrating? Selling a house. And you know what this place needs? Some HUMAN kids. Human kids you can strap in seat belts so they don't jump on your lap a million times. Am I right?

So we sat in the car down the street tying up a tutu for an order and getting glitter positively everywhere. Which was sort of wonderful, when you think about it. Thirty minutes later the house was empty, and we went home.

Then I ate some oatmeal and watched black and white episodes of The French Chef on PBS. And oh, do you know what I love? People who pronounce the H in "who" and "what" and "where" and "whatever." All breathy-like. Yes? Are you with me on this? It is just too cultured I am telling you. Delicious.

So then I almost went for a run, but then I didn't. Mostly I think because it was rainy, but actually more it was because of the brain cocoon. Brain cocoons are not conducive to physical coordination mostly. Wouldn't you agree? Anyway I had more pressing matters to attend to. Like staring out the window, for example.

Then I focused all my mental energy into getting my danged husband a danged job. Smart, right? It involves sitting very still and using all your mojo-juju to call to the HR reps of America with your brain waves. It was intellectually exhausting, as I am sure you can imagine. I probably won't know if it worked for a while yet. But, you know.

Then I read the archives of one of my favorite blogs and started to miss my childhood in the burbs of Mesa something fierce. Oh, Mesa!

At 4:30 I formally requested a Patty's Jr. Burrito of The Holbs. It tasted really good. I ate it while watching Gilmore Girls and wishing I understood what the fuss was about.

So, basically, boring brainy cocoons wrapped in foamy gauze or whatever. Super heartbreaking.

But, tune in next week. Next week I'll have something interesting to tell you. That is a promise.

Hearts and kisses and rainbow butterfly glitter,

Nat The Rat