cat on roof

I know - from the 5th to the 11th without a word. For a boring old married person I must have been busy. Or so you would think. I realized a few things over the past week while I wasn't writing. It may have been silly to tell so many of the people I know about this thing. They may come to expect something from me, like words. Also, now when I get the urge to write about the silly or odd or interesting things they do, I have to consider if they too would find it silly. Or not. Makes a girl think she should start blog2 - but girl can't keep up with blog1, so....NO. What else did I think of in the last week? I thought a bunch about my friends. I saw a bunch of my friends. Which reminded me why I complain to myself or more likely The Yogini when I am missing them. Even the ones that live down the street. My friends are cool and fun and good to be around. I've caught a glimpse or two of other people's friends, and I am glad to be me. Sure, Azucar flew in and spent three nights - nonconsecutively - and she can fairly be considered the cream of the crop. Probably nobody ever said that about her before. Or about a friend. But I was thinking about pizza and tops and looking for something verging on clever. And then that happened. You might remember that there were a few out-of-towners here a week or so before. And I know no other people who would have played a full day of pig tossing and so, they must be considered the crow's toes. And then Mama and Papa Brown. At the baby shower, Papa B got up for his baby's mama to thank everyone, AND, he read each and every book they got. He has thousands of readings ahead of him, but there he was " a bah and a moo and a cock-a-doodle-doo." And Mama B, the very next day at Ms. Highlights and The Rocker's wedding, with her hair all sweet and curled, laughed and laughed and even danced with Papa B to the delight of all us onlookers. There are so many more sweet pictures floating around in my head. And, though it would seem appropriate to keep writing, I am not going to. I'm achy and cranky and feeling like I do every month or so about this time, and I am logging off. I will write more. I will write more often. I might even have something interesting to say. But not now. I've got to go write my dissertation. Or was that someone else? What do you think rhymes with dissertation? And, by the way, I was hoping for delight and surprised by insight.