Mush

Our brains are mush. We’ve had so many ideas and done so much work and beaded so many rows and made so many notes. I read back on some of them… and it all sounds gibberish but I know that there is genius hidden in there. I see suggested titles such as “Infinite Monkey Theorem” and “The Pain & Pleasure of Contemporary Geometric Beadwork”.

I can’t find the cats (both of them out on a Saturday night?) and my power cord must have a deadly kink in it, because it’s only sporadically working. Mars is up in the sky and bright bright orange and huge. My arm is a hundred times better; the physical therapy, hot baths and ice and arnica are working wonders. There is still a way to go, but I’m making progress and I can feel that it’s going to work out.

Photos from Hub, a favorite restaurant downtown, and site of our dinner tonight.

I want to hire a helicopter to fly over my neighbor’s house and dump a bucket of water in their chimney. Enough with the wood fires, already. Winter’s over! It’s lovely outside.  Am I the only one on Earth who hates the smell of a fireplace? What’s the matter with me? And how does it manage to fill my head and make me sneeze and infiltrate every portion of my bedroom, even though my windows are closed? Powerful stuff.

Don’t forget to check Jean’s blog for her version of events, to see if they match up with mine…