They Say It’s Good For The Soul

I have a confession to make. I? Made a mistake.

Yes, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. It’s a fact, tho. I have a habit of running the oppostie direction of public opinion: I can’t count the number of good movies that tanked because the General Public hated them, or the wasted hours watching some stupid event or going to lousy restaurants because “everybody loves it!” That’s the only explanation I have for the proliferation of Olive Gardens around the state. I love their breadsticks and salad, but when they stopped serving their humongo cheesecake and went to teeny little slices, they lost me.

ANYWAY. I have staunchly refused to get into Twilight Mania. Refused, I tell you, torch in hand, waving it at hormonal teen girls in an effort to rescue them from inane prose. I WAS WRONG. Dear LORD, I was WRONG!!! I just finished Breaking Dawn, and I was genuinely sad to see it end. Every time I thought I had it figured out, I turned the page and had my wrist slapped. OK, maybe not EVERY time, but enough times to keep me guessing, and most of all, hoping. I carried the books with me to work, and several of my students commented, happy to have something in common with me. One college freshman made me summarize Twilight for her to rescue her from the insanity of NOT. KNOWING. and having no time to finish it herself. Stephanie Meyer, you have my most humble apologies. Those who criticize your writing style are haters, and should get back to drawing their comic books in their mother’s basements.

Ahem.

Other news:

Everybody in my house has a cough right now. It’s probably a really good thing I am single, because I can’t imagine a human male being willing to wipe cat boogers off his arm when one sneezes on him. It was gross enough when one of them got squeezed the wrong way passing thru across the laptop and squirted foul-smelling ick on the screen. I assume it’s anal gland fluid, and I have had my share of 3am bed-changings because of that little design feature, but DANNNNG. On the SCREEN?? How does that even HAPPEN? I didn’t smell it first. The cat that did it looked AWFULLY surprised, then turned around and started cleaning it up. I let her, cuz her nose is better than mine, and she could find it all.  I was glad for it, but I didn’t kiss her after. *shudder*

If you are still reading, you have a mighty tough tummy. Congrats. Or… my condolences for what made it that way.

I’ve had a run of bad luck with the babies lately, but I’m holding out hope that it’s over. This cold has gone through most of them, with only the outside two escaping the crud. Spock never developed the cough. The others sound like I will wake up and find lungs, kidneys, and maybe a spleen or two on the kitchen floor. A horking cat is a truly awful thing to experience, and if you’ve never had the joy of being waked from a sound sleep at 4am by an imminent expulsion, please, consider yourself blessed in a Mother-Teresa-has-a-winning-lottery-ticket sort of way. I woke up to horrors twice this week: a pile of feathers, a raw peanut, and a rock on one day (that’s a great little puzzler, right there), and a really gross finding today that I can’t even type without feeling queasy.

Horking is piddlin’ compared to screaming, which is also common around here. the latest victim was a flying squirrel, whom I managed to rescue from a growling mini-tiger. He had an injured leg, and I wound up taking him to a nearby rehabilitator for further help. He made quite a recovery in the week I had him, so I have every hope he will have a good life. Just not in my back yard.

I once entertained thoughts of having one for a pet if the cats ever caught another (this was the 4th in my adult lifetime), but this experienced dashed those thoughts into tiny little bits of squirrel poo. The kids nearly destroyed my house trying to get him out of the cage. No way could I keep one. It would be like raising my own bait.

The clock tolls two. I should sleep. A parting portrait of my life these days: click to biggify.

Later!