More of the Same

[rejectomorph]

Here I am thinking it's about eight o'clock as I start this entry, and it's not even half past six yet. Here I am trying to figure out what to write about and it's going on seven o'clock. I'm guessing that if I write a full paragraph the last line will be here it is Friday and I'm wondering what happened to Thursday.

Maybe not. There's a full moon tonight, and I can always write a line or two about the moon. I've also been sneezing quite a bit, and I can always write about how annoying the mold spores growing from dead leaves become after the first few rains of the year. Plus I haven't had dinner yet, and it's never a problem to come up with a line or two about how I can't decide what to eat. And now my nose is being assailed, and I never tire of complaining about how Portia fails to completely bury her droppings after using the litter box.

Something new, though... let me think... no, nothing is new. So now I know what happened to Thursday. The same thing that happens to every day these days. It declines into darkness having brought nothing novel with it, and leaving only the faintest trace of itself on my memory.

Thursday: you have less than five hours to redeem yourself. I'm thinking maybe pie from the sky. A drone delivering pie! That would be memorable.

Or maybe I'll just go clean the poo out of the litter box.

Comments

[daisydumont.livejournal.com]

A drone that delivers pie! I need one! Some yahoo with a shootin' iron would mistake it for a UFO and shoot it down though, I bet, and so much for pie.

I've been tapping away at my usual NaNoWriMo drivel, an astounding percentage of which is descriptions of food in a Hoosier diner, mostly pie. My mother's butterscotch meringue is the star of the tale. I kid you not.

Portia at least tries to cover up her bizness. Zack never bothered at all!

[rejectomorph]

I had a cat who, even from kittenhood, not only buried all his own droppings, but would try to bury his littermates' droppings before they had even dropped! Poor Dotty, Touché, or Bow would be trying to drop a stool and Dude would be right behind them flinging litter at their behinds as fast as his paws could go.

I like a tidy cat, but Dude was downright obsessive. Luckily they were indoor-outdoor cats, so the others were eventually able to get away from him when they had to go. As far as I know he didn't follow them around the neighborhood flinging dirt at their butts.

[daisydumont.livejournal.com]

Hahaha! That's impressive. :D