What is Fine?

I’m sucking on a chocolate square, staring at my monitor, wondering what’s fine. Fine is an interesting word. Much usage. Not to put too fine a point on it, but fine is often a lie, an omission at best. Most of my fines come with a disclaimer.

“I’m fine apart from the gnawing agony of reality and the horrifying realization that time is finite unlike the never-ending nightmare of anxiety that comes while figuring out how to live while I still have time. Also, my shoulder is killing me. Nice weather, though, isn’t it?”

I mean, how real need we be with people we will likely never see again? Real friends don’t ask how you are, they pinpoint, “How’re you handling — ?”

… the loss of my father? Alright. But today I saw a man who looked like a young version of him and it took the air right out of my lungs.

… returning to work full-time? I’ve passed all the headless chickens.

… Homophobic chicken eliminating chicken salad from the menu? I’m recovering. I do eat more yogurt.
(What, you don’t grieve petty shit?)

… the upcoming wedding?

We all have worlds behind the fine.

There are also a lot of things better than fine. I don’t know why I’m still wearing jeans and a bra and jewelry, but I’m in a warm, cozy spot and my animals gather around me like I am a veritable Snow White. I have squares of chocolate, yellow tulips in a vase, and not a single pressing matter to attend to.
I’m convinced no one in the history of the world has ever been more in love than I am. I love how in the winter, The Mister grows his face coat and every year it’s snowier and snowier. He loves how I get cold and let him hold me a lot. I love how the day begins with him, wordless and warm. I love how at the end of the day, he smooths me out like a cat whose fur’s been brushed the wrong way.

Sometimes, when the things don’t feel fine, or we don’t feel fine about the things, we have to remember all things, fine and rough, come and go. And supposedly, everything is fine as it should be, just as it is. It’s hard to remember that, to experience gratitude when the complaints are so much easier to access.

Still, life does its best to show us reminders — small kindnesses, blips of beauty, a knowing smile, a word of encouragement, a hearty laugh.

It’s like a Spirograph. It feels random and jerky while you’re doin it, but at the end, it’s sacred beauty. I keep hope, and that’s fine enough.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘fine’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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SoCS — Good

Last weekend, one of my tires was low and The Mister put some air in it. On Thursday, I got in my car and the tire sign was on again. I don’t know how anyone would know it’s a tire sign, it looks like melting ice cream to me. ooh! where’s the ice cream, bonnie blue? Fortunately, for people like me, there’s also a wording part which read Tire Pressure Low.
I called The Mister and asked him if it was the same tire, and it was, so I said if he put some air in at again, I’d take it to the fixit place.

Walked through the door. Just a basic standard glass door with chrome handle. Talked to the man, left my key.
They called me mid-morning, all done. Walked over there at lunch. Man showed me the screw they pulled from the tire. They patched it up. As I was about to sign I looked over at the right column — 0.00. “How much is it?” i am signing for this. i should know.
“No charge.”
“What? That’s so nice! Thank you!”
“Eh, it’s no big deal.”
“Well that’s very kind, thanks again.”
Y’all, I literally have no idea what it costs to have a tire patched. I seriously do not know, but it was free and that’s an unexpected kindness.

Good place, Good Year.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘door’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Recappa 3

Over the weekend, The Mister took me out for sushi and new shoes, which afforded me the energy to roast two chickens and make pasta e fagioli, and praise be to puppies, we none of us had to use Moo’s red shorts as a napkin.

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Monday was another holiday my employer doesn’t grant us, so I went to work while my family lay snug in their beds. Hard to leave. I had a good day, and my evening was even better because The Mister did the grocery shopping, heated up goat cheese pizza to put in my belly, and then he surprised me with a pint of Culver’s chocolate covered strawberry ice cream. I do so love the way he cares for me.

Also, he makes me laugh. Tuesday morning was like this:

It was a freakish 74 degrees Tuesday. The wind blew warm. Strange. I’ll not say unwelcome, but unseasonable days always weird me out. Tuesday was long. It was the longest day of the week, by far. I worked late and thought i will never get out of the weeds. By 9 I was swimmin with Sassy — the very best part of the day, even though she was all, “Butterfly now!” and I was all, “Mimom is tired!” I kept this same mood when she commented on the ‘old’ people and their ‘special joints’ and I was all, “You can shut the fuck up with that, and then when you’re done, you can shut the fuck up s’more.” I was fifteen once too, that’s when I found out I had special joints, and Bitch, I was born old. Still, we had all the LOLZ and swam all the laps and I slept like a baby after that.

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On Wednesday, I struggled with the herfderflooper.

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Y’ever had one of those things you learned wrong but didn’t know it was wrong, so you kept doin it wrong, and then when you did do it right, it felt wrong, and your brain sizzled and fizzled and finally you decided i must write down the herfderflooper because i can’t even trust my own mind? Like that. Kinda killed my Wednesday buzz.
But then, I came home, and Moo, who had been asked to ‘Tidy up’ remove Sassy’s 9271 glasses from the living room, the 238 hairbands the cats chase, recycle the 139 empty cans of diet Pepsi, fold the 490 blankets and fluff the 48 pillows had actually, tidied up, cleaned, and swept, and I was all aglow in the maturity and thoughtfulness of Moos as well as the smell of Mrs. Meyers.
And my Amazon boxes had arrived! Woot!

The Mister and I stayed up way too late watching show. Morning sucks anyway, but I began to fear we would never actually fall asleep and I decided we should just turn it off.

Thursday morning came like this:IMG_5258

Thursday day, my grumpiness was astounding. You know how people don’t know all the things? They shouldn’t know all the things. I don’t expect them to know all the things, but where I work is sometimes downright hysterical of people not knowing things. These same people must want their hand-tailored suit, five-tier wedding cake, re-built transmission, ready when they finish lunch. When I say hysterical, I do mean hysterical. Legit, hysterical.
I refrain from asking, “Oh, do you have a time machine, then?” BUT IT IS ALL I CAN DO TO STOP MYSELF.

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By mid-afternoon Thursday, I had to break into a peppermint patty and I had dreams of a hot bath and a martini.

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I didn’t actually take a hot bath or drink a martini, but instead, took a bowl of Rice Krispies to my bed. Mmm, bed.

I’m sure today will be sheer madness. Which will make the evening even sweeter. My fate is in the hands of a large group of teens. They think they’re voting on an outing, but really, they’re voting on which day and for how long I’ll have solitude, peace, and quiet.

Happy Friday Everyone!

 

 

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Recappa 2, Apparently

This is what I do now, apparently. Recaps. Heh. Maybe it’ll be different when …  oh, who the fuck knows.

I have to do a lot of this.
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I think I’ve been fightin off a pack of germs, an army of flus, bug ninjas. I dunno. I know I don’t have enough spoons to blog or gym or stay up past my bedtime.

Lemme tell ya, last Saturday I did what all the people do, apparently — I went through the car wash, filled up my car, went to the goddamn grocery store, yadda yadda. Do Not Recommend. In my city of not quite a million people, there were at least ten million people driving around and waiting in lines. It had been a very long time since I did all the things on a Saturday, which is how I got the energy to do all the things on a Saturday, and that reminds me why it’s so important not to do all the things on a Saturday.

Shopped only for what was requested, which makes me look like I am, in fact, shopping for four different people. Schizocart.

“Nice breasts,” The Mister said.

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On Saturday, I also told my children, as I do every week, to put their laundry in the bins. They didn’t do that. I am publicly shaming my children, yes I am. TSK.
Sassy finally took the last load out of the dryer after I lost my shit over the lack of washcloths in the main bathroom. i own more than forty washcloths. should i wash my face with fucking toilet paper?
“Yes, Catticus, I too am alarmed by the lack of clean dish towels and napkins.”
This weekend, I may take laundry hostages. It’d be a real shame if all their most favorite clothes went missing, OR if I used them as dish towels and napkins. Wouldn’t that be terrible? Wouldn’t you like to be a guest that day? Lil roasted chicken, lil carrots, wild rice, pretty plate, shiny fork — JUST WIPE YOUR MOUTH ON MOO’S RED SHORTS.

Sunday was grand, cause that’s what it does. It does grand, I do laundry and nothin. BUT! On Sunday, a small crisis — I got to the end of my beloved word game. It was sad, but I moved on to another word game, and that was happy.

Monday I worked early and over, but I left dissatisfied. Apparently, I needed two Mondays.
The Mister made the salad, and chili for Tuesday, nearly all by himself. When we went to bed, he said, “I dunno how you do it,” but I didn’t know what it was — parent so wisely, wear a bra all day, go more and sleep less than him, grow hair… 
“Do what?”
“Cook two meals at once.”
“Oh. Practice.”

Tuesday was not cruel. Tuesday was just fine. On Tuesday, I said aloud, “I’ve gotten a lot done and my tasks have all been going swimmingly!” And then I waited for the ceiling to cave in or the internet to go out, but nope.
I left on time, ran to the Aldi quick, and went home to that chili! And a solid half hour of peace and quiet!
However, Tuesday night, when Lady Do Hair came over, my whojawhatsit did not take and she had to redo my whojawhatsit. Apparently, that happens with the whojawhatsits from time to time.
Annnd, my new book was supposed to arrive by Tuesday, but it didn’t. That was fine, cause I was too tired to stay up and read.

It came on Wednesday.
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What the hell did we eat Wednesday? OH! Tacos! Jesss, tacos, lovingly prepared by Moo.
No, we didn’t do anything special for Valentine’s Day. Well, we did go to bed early TO SLEEP.

Thursday was exceptionally warm — go without a coat warm! I wore my pink lacy sweater and my sparkle shoes with the earbobs The Mister likes.

I had doors, I did.

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I was too tired to write about the doors I have. I needed to sit in my bed until 7:30. It was rainy and the cats wanted me to stay. My toothbrush was too heavy and my concealer was too light. Still, I trod on.
And good things happened because Thursdays are kind.
Look what I saw!
Through my sheers — Can ya see him?

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I never can get a good picture of my cardinals, and I have more than two pair.

Thursday delivered my new arthritis-friendly stapler!
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It’s the little things, y’all. Notice the cracked mug of fondness. Aw, mug.

Then I came home and made breakfast for dinner. I am a French Toast Person in a house of Pancake People, but apparently, don’t nobody complain if there’s bacon!

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Today was a good day, if busy. I was told it’s busy season, but in my own nonsense head, I think of it as Chaotic Neutral. I worked late and I went to the goddamn grocery store on the way home because I will not go on Saturday!
When I got home, we had two group hugs and dessert before dinner.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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Recappa

I wasn’t on Facebook Sunday.
I got on Monday night and saw people wishin one another Happy Superbowl as though it’s a special holiday and I was like, “Why am I friends with these people?!?” but then I thought about it and I was like, these people are friends with me when i post a neurotic vaguery of swear in my own special nonsense language, so right on, a very happy superbowl to y’all, too. 

Meanwhile, I’m like, Supersnow Sunday! Hurrah! Powdery stuff, all floofy and sweet. On Sunday I lay on my husband and sat my sofa. I petted the people and the animals and played my word games and smiled at my clean house. Then I made chocolate espresso cake.

The Mister deejayed, so it was old sad bastard music all the way. (If you know what book-slash-movie that phrase is from, you make my Top Five. *wink wink*)

On Monday, I went to work early and it was challenging. Then I went home, dropped people at rehearsal, went to the goddamn grocery store, went home again, and made myself a big ol crispy salad. My husband kissed my neck for such a substantial length of time, Sassy made gagging noises. As you all know, making salad is hawt. I bought French dressing. Y’all ever had French dressing? I never bought it before Monday. I only ever ate it at our friends’ house. I found myself delighted every time they served salad, knowing that tangy dressing would be offered. I thought, i could actually buy this. it’s not like how i only buy poppycock when i go to the home store… it’s just salad dressing. So I plopped in those sugar snap peas and carrots and radishes and waved my new dressing over it and I ate that shit up.

Tuesday was Tuesday alright. I wore my black sweater with the asymmetrical collar. I should have worn chinkless armor. I cannot decide, even now, if I had it coming or if I walked into a trap. I worked late, but not as late as I’d expected. The sky did this:

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I drove home croonin out Anna Nalick.


When I got home, I immediately soaked in a hot bath. I floated mermaid-style while Catticus lapped at my water and pawed at my nose and I thought about how hungry I was. is it me or does email burn a lot of calories? non? Moo and The Mister had made Moo Stew and it was delicious because they made it with love, of course and I was starved outta my head. Then The Mister did dishes, because he’s an acts of service kinda guy, and while I’m a words of affirmation kinda gal, him doin the dishes was about a thousand times better than him sayin he likes my pajama pants or someshit. Oh, and on Tuesday, we wear our favorite pajamas, too.

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Wednesday was splendid. The Mister brought me coffee in bed. Not only did I have few work emails, but I made it to zero blog emails on Wednesday — a feat, I tell ya! I talked to The Mister all the way home, but when I got there I realized I forgot to stop and get phone chargers. Hand to God, Sassy goes through phone chargers faster than she goes through shampoo. I made stir-fry and I want you to know that it was delicious, but I couldn’t eat it all. I hadda save room for a Klondike Bar.

Thursday was marvelous, as Thursdays can’t help but be. Work was busy and good. I left mid-afternoon to go run one errand and left early to run another. Some people don’t like to run errands on their jobs. Apparently they’re not into getting paid to drive and sing far from the pinging of emails? The sun was still up THE WHOLE TIME!

The Mister made Spaghetti That Is Not Spaghetti, which is what Sissy named it when she was but a wee thing. It’s spaghetti with marinara, but thick with Italian sausage and heavy on the basil. While he did that, I made us all chicken salad sammiches for lunch today. My big boy would NOT stay off me. Even when the kids climbed on, he would not leave his mama. He would sit on my head if he had to.

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I know there were other kitties online, and doors, and even some word games, but y’all, he needed me.

Finally, Friday, Woot!

My hair wouldn’t behave. I put about two tons of silicone in it, and tried to knot it, but springy bits kept poppin out all over. I put another two tons of silicone in it and clipped the sides up in a barrette like it was 1990. Yes, I did have wicked good hair in 1990.
At the office, it was one of those days where around 5:00, you dunno where time went, but you know you will not finish all your work. In the background, people were talkin about Shapiro’s and I was all, i am a matzo ball floating in the broth of life… but also, we should have soup this weekend…
Only The Mister was home upon my return. He suggested we flip the mattress before heading out. Since my husband spent his youth surrounded by fundamentalist Christian women, the, as I call it, “Pentecostal Hair” always works for him.

The girls were in their very first concert piece together tonight and it was neato. (They’re not in the video, don’t look for them.)

Happy Weekend Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Four Words and a Door

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I dig those reflections.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link and find the frog.

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SoCS — In Other Words

Moo got this word game on her phone, and we’d all sometimes help her find what she couldn’t. I liked it, so I put it on my phone. Then Sassy put it on her phone. Then The Mister would help us find what we couldn’t, and he didn’t always wanna give it back, so he put it on his phone. Now, three of us play the game, and Moo only plays when we need help.
We sometimes switch phones, like, “I’m tired of looking for this word.”
“Me too.”
SWAP!

There are times we lose the will to live over words as simple as TWO and things no one’s thought about since 7th grade science, like CATION. Earlier today, The Mister found SET for me, and I found UNION for him. Sometimes it’s 4 words, sometimes it’s 40. It’s maddening and addictive.
“My phone’s dying. Let’s have sex.”

I don’t have time to tweet, I have to solve Level 13 and get all the butterflies!

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Yeah, yeah, I know the top word is BURDEN, you don’t have to tell me, heh. If I solve it, I can’t get a photo before the next one comes up.

What nearly mindless games are you into?

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘in other words’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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But No: A Rant

Y’all ever wrong? Ever make mistakes? Are you the kind of person who refuses to admit error, or are you like me, all, “Oh you’re right, my apologies!”

I don’t talk shit when I’m not sure. On the daily, I say things like, “I’m sure you’re right,” and “You’d know better than I.” There are also many times when I’ve said “I don’t know” because I don’t know, and if you do know, why the fuck are you askin me?!? (I’ll never understand why people do that. Am I on Jeopardy?)
Anyway, there are abundant witnesses to my humility. When I don’t know things, I don’t pretend to. I’m always eager to learn new things. This is a good quality.

A bad quality I possess is self-righteous zeal, fury, and wrath over anyone who tells me I’m wrong when I know I’m right. I may need to work on that.

BUT NOT WHEN PEOPLE LIE ON ME AND IT COSTS ME MONEY.

Sassy text me and asked, How you feel about Target?
I text back, I love Target. They have goat cheese pizza and there’s a Starbucks in there.
You take Moo and me to Target?
I think you wash my hair, do jeans, cook sausage, and take the gd dog out.
NVM
Oh mmhm
NVM We’re down. We’ll wash your hair in the sink.

I made a ponytail and took the girls to Target. We had gift cards out the wazoo. The Mister told me to take his gift cards, too.
If you insist!

Never has anyone ever bought a stranger compilation of things than at Target. You’re like, i need some band-aids, but also cream, and this tie-dyed alpaca… only one goat cheese pizza left? i have got to stop bloggin about it. look at this giant box of cocoa for $6, and this scarf is soft and sweet, ice cream’s on sale, and i must have this tiny dish because it’s so pretty, and ooh! is that her latest book?

You know it’s true.

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Used all the gift cards ever. Took us five minutes to check out, so many gift cards. Thanked the lady behind us for her patience. The guy who had been behind us left, poor guy.

Went to the not-a-real-Starbucks in Target. (Y’all know that, right?) Ordered four coffees: two white mochas, one decaf caramel macchiato, one butterscotch frap.
When Lyin ass LiarGirl only gave me three coffees, I informed her of the missing white mocha. She said I only ordered three coffees. I said no, I ordered four. I did not pay $20 for three coffees. She said I only ordered three and I only paid for three, it was fourteen-something, but she will ring me up for a fourth.

OH MY IRE!

“It was fourteen somethin after I swiped my gift card, and then I used my husband’s gift card for the remainder.”

“No, you only used one gift card.”

OH MY FUCKIN GOD, IMMA DECK HER LYIN ASS LIAR FACE!

We went back and forth before I asked, “Where’s my receipt?”
“You told me you didn’t want a receipt.”

LIAR! THE FURY! MY TREMBLING HOT BLOOD!

“No, you did not ask me if I wanted a receipt. If you had, I would have said yes because I’d like to tell my husband what’s left on his gift card.”

“No, you only used one gift card.”
“I used two.”
“No you didn’t.”

RAGE! RAGE! RAGE!

A manager was called. She said to get security to pull my receipt.
Security was called. Security pulled my receipt.

I asked that man, “Did I pay for four coffees?”
“Yes.”
“Did I use two gift cards?”
“Yes.”
“I would like my husband’s grande white mocha and I would like that receipt and I would like an apology.”

HE apologized. He thought if she had to apologize to me, it would escalate the situation.

I WOULD TOTALLY ESCALATE THE FUCK OUT OF THAT SITUATION.
i do not believe in violence. i am a pacifist.
Her hair was loose, and I had that ponytail.

Like I don’t know how many people I’m buyin coffee for. Like I don’t know how many husbands and children I have. What the hell is wrong with people?!? Shut your lyin lips and pull the receipt you vacuous twat!

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I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.
om, motherfucker, om, om, om

 

Happy Friday Everyone! 

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#ThursdayDoors — Cross the Street, Ya Ninny!

A few weeks ago, at No Facilities, Dan wrote New York Photo Rules and I told him the rules were fabulous. I personally don’t abide by rules when it comes to creativity, which is why his one rule to rule them all is tops. Basically, TAKE THE SHOT.

Dan did mention this one important tidbit:

“There’s a (whatever) in the way – Decide now if that shot would look better if you crossed the street. If the answer is yes, cross the street. Cross now (it’s often safer than crossing at the corner) take the shot and move on.”

When I’m out on doorscursions, I certainly take the shot. However, I have a bad habit I call Forgetting To Cross The Damn Street.

I get home with doors, all, what’s this door to? where the hell was this taken? surely there are other pieces of this… unless you never did cross the street, joey… 

Here are some of those forgotten bits from meanderings downtown:

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Rest assured, this ninny always takes the shot!

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link and find the frog.

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In Conclusion, Rambly Jot

Oh, Go Jot Yourself!

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Sorry, I should never let my uterus speak for me.
At least I’m not pregnant. Or, you know, a man. *shudder*

Tuesday wasn’t bad.
After coffee at home, I had coffee at work. We have one of those wretched K things at work, and no surprise, it displeases me. Somehow the coffee comes out twice as acidic, half as rich, and extremely bitter. I dunno. No likey the thing. I discussed this with a friend over the weekend, and she not only told me what K coffees I like to drink at her house, but also gave me additional labels to sample.
I especially liked the Starbucks French Roast. Course, it’s not decaf, so just the one cup. I drank all five samples today. “No coffee, no workee.” I bought my mother a mug with that on it when I was a teenager. I looked — I couldn’t find that particular Boynton mug on Google, but I found this one for Ally Bean.

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At work, I drink my coffee and tea from a mug Big Boss Lady crafted with her own two hands. It’s quite nice. I keep thinking I’ll find a mug I want to take to work, because that seems like something I should do, cept it’ll have to be better than that mug. Hand-thrown and glazed, muted earthy color, nice deep handle… She considers it a reject because it’s cracked. I revel in this imperfection, as I have many cracks myself. I have a low-key attachment to the mug. I have always been this picky about coffee mugs.

I also eat oatmeal at work in the morning. In a yellow bowl. It’s not handmade, but I have an affection for it, because, well, it’s lello.
My coworker eats oatmeal every morning, too. Like my husband, he really only likes the brown kind. I like it too, but I like the red one as well, so I eat red so he can eat more brown. Do y’all have that? I mean, I know what the flavors are, but my family likes the brown oatmeal and the brown Pop-Tarts and the green cereal bars. *shrugs*
My husband also eats oatmeal at work every morning. Do any of you?
The Mister works for a huge multi-billion dollar corporation, so they don’t buy his oatmeal. I work at one of ‘five-locations’ and Big Boss Lady buys our oatmeal. Go figure.

 
I went out for lunch and the sun was out. I liked it. It felt meaningful. The cold wind has been cruel lately, and that warm sun on my face was a pleasant contrast. I ate homophobic chicken and a cup of coconut yogurt and raisins.

Later, I left work on time. I don’t know if you leave your work on time, but I bout never do. I arrive early and leave late. I have one of those dreadful work ethics people go on about. I hate leaving things unfinished and it seems the people who call right before closing are the sort of people who have stories to tell. Sometimes this elicits paperwork. But not this Tuesday!

I drove home IN THE DAYLIGHT and without incident.

Moo baked potatoes. My parents were civil engineers and we ate a lot of potatoes in the winter. Bakers. It stuck. I’m not sure there are baked potatoes big enough to not make me want to eat more of them, so I guess it’s good they’re filling.

Sassy, injured ankle and all, fell asleep on me after dinner.

Plenty of good things for a Tuesday.
None of them as good as slipping back into sleep with The Mister, another Tuesday put to bed.

This post concludes my Just Jot It January for 2018 — Thank you so much for joining me, and thank you to LindaGHill for hosting.

Let’s get over this hump and into doors and kittens, shall we?

 

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