I can bugger up worse than anything.
The daughter posted one of those free-form posts, the ones where you don't have anything in particular to say, so you just sort of say it all, in snippets. I rather like those posts, because they can say a lot about someone in a very fast time.
I know it happens to me especially--I try my dangdest to have a post ready by the previous evening, or at least the kernel of an idea, but sometimes the well is dry, and all the chaff and dead bits are sort of scumming around the bottom and you get dregs rather than a drink of fine wine. But you see, that's the very thing--the dregs are the very things that have meaning too! They've been floating around that well of creativity for how long? steadily soaking up the creative energies, or at least swirling around in interesting patterns when the wind gets going good.
So what I'm getting at is that I'm proud of my dregs, because at least they're something, and might once have been creative ideas who simply outlived their usefulness, or no longer apply in the real world but might have had some application six months ago or several years or when I was a kid and still in diapers.
So what sort of dregs have I for you this morning? You know, I'm not sure. I've gone and made the cardinal mistake of wearing a black T-shirt this morning, because each and every cat in the house has made at least one trip up to me while I sit at the computer, rubbed every loose hair they have on me, and left again. I'm going to arrive at work this morning looking like I'm wearing a mohair suit.
The weather has gone utterly mad--the heat has been LA usual for summer the past week or two, sauna-style, and yesterday out of nowhere the rain arrived, cooling everything down remarkably well. I went outside yesterday evening to do a little overdue gardening and it was 74 degrees out there, cool enough that I felt like I could work all evening. That is until I realised that my work involved me hunkering down by the brick wall of the house, the one that had been soaking up heat all day and was steady releasing it into the air. I think I sweated out more fluid than I HAD in my body at the time.
Tomorrow promises to be interesting--a shooting range has been located within fairly easy driving distance, and so instead of driving way the heck out into the federal reserve to find a high berm to spend the day standing in front of, swatting mosquitoes and trying to find some protection from the pounding down sun we will instead be, I believe, in a semi-enclosed building with sandbags, hearing protection (other than shoving a .45 caliber FMJ in each ear) and targets, as well as a Range Master and maybe even some liquid refreshment available. Good heavens, I won't know how to act, and I'm glad I remembered we were going tomorrow, because this means I have to pick up some ammo this afternoon.
And time has flown...I need to do the same.