Past noon on a whatday

When I woke up this morning I wasn’t sure what day it was. My hope was that it was Wednesday because Thursday I’m getting a massage, but I still need to shave my legs which might be a two-day affair – one never knows. That’s why I didn’t wish it was Thursday.

I’m sorry if lately I’ve been a horrible blogging buddy. I’ve been crabby and insecure and hating myself with means that I’ve been projecting that everyone else hates me too.
The other week we found ONE flea on Tula. ONE flea and we flipped out throwing blankets, clothes, pillows, Tula, vacuum cleaners. Ever since then I’ve felt itchy like there’s something on me. We told her to stop playing with the squirrels and dumped that nasty flea goo on her neck. She’s just recovering. Her fur was skanky for a few weeks like a dumpster goon had grabbed her with puss-grubby hands. I love you, cat, but you nasty. Slowly we are touching her head again.

I’m trying to gather a bunch of poems – see if I can do anything with them. Maybe just a chapbook or more, but I’ve never gathered them for anything very significant so I’m not sure what I’m doing. That seems to be a running theme.
I’ve also realized that the digital age has made us all cowards.

And I’ve ALSO realized that Lent makes everything smell like old tuna fish. Please start sinning again.

That is all.

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