At the fragile white and pale-pink petals coating the pavement and drifting over the windshields of parked cars today.
Ah, the first snows of Summer.
Category Archives: Marveling
Marveling
At the way your ass looks in those jeans.
Also, am thankful for women’s lib. making it totally acceptable for me to objectify men to my wee heart’s content!
Marveling
There are four [EDIT: I lied. There are three. Counting is not my forté] roundabouts between my condo and my aunt’s house. I love them all, every one. Before I moved here, I hated roundabouts. I only knew of one in Idaho, out in the Nampa regions (AKA the first circle of Hell) and it seemed utterly pointless. Oh, how I loathed it. Roundabouts, as I have since discovered, are poetry, and Nampa is, and always will be, prose of the driest, most Richardsonian kind.
Having only encountered the ridiculous roundabout in that blight of a city known as Nampa, I therefore concluded that I hated all roundabouts. But I don’t. I adore them. I want to confuse the locals by never exiting them. EVER. I want to drive around in them until I pass out from dizziness and go careening into a tree. While driving on roundabouts, my internal soundtrack is stuck in a constant squeal of delight. I cannot imagine having road rage on a roundabout. It’s just not possible.
Roundabouts are magical, like Santa Claus and Tooth Fairies and Elves and other such wondrous things that I never believed could possibly exist, except, roundabouts ARE real. REAL WHOLESOME FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY.
Not even Nampa can diminish my joy.
Whee!
Marveling
Of all the amazing and good things that have happened to me in the past week, the single greatest occurrance is waking up without a headache every morning.
For the first time, I am healing.
This is why I moved.
Marveling
Every morning, at around 6am, my kitten, Ernest, wakes me up by mewing loudly and incessantly, climbing on my face, and biting my hands. It is a testament to human love and kindness that he is still alive, because, as anyone who has tried to wake me up before 8 in the morning can attest to, I’m not usually very nice.
Once Ernest has begun his morning ritual of ear-piercing whines, it is impossible to go back to sleep, so I usually ignore him for as long as possible, hoping that he will eventually give up and go back to sleep. He never does.
