Who Did It?!?

It is a small, ceramic, green teapot. It once posed decoratively on the lowest of a three shelf book and/or knick-knack shelving unit. It is now in two pieces. Well, technically three, the two base pieces held together by the bamboo handle.

It can be repaired. Hot glue should do.

Once repaired it will nestle snugly in my daughter's moving (eventually) box where some of other precious breakables live.

Who did IT? Rhetorical. We all know Buttah did IT. It is what he does. But then, it isn't really his fault. He is clumsy and I know that.

And I think he enjoys watching things fall and crash. I see him push and shove objects around until they fall to the floor. Nearly immediately upon impact he peers around with those iridescent eyes, satisfaction radiating from his whiskers.

He saunters away to nibble some kibble. Once sated, he returns, yowling to be held, cradled like a baby. It is what he does.

And I know this.

Confounded

Peter, my brown tabby is joining me for coffee this morning. It has been awhile since he has hung out with me here at the computer, that is usually Buttah's domain. But, this morning, it's Peter, or rather, Pete. I really only call him Peter when I'm upset frustrated with his antics.

I feel for him though. Several times a day (judging by what I witness most evenings and over the weekend) he has to fend off not only Buttah's playful jousting but Diamond's attentions as well. Have you ever seen a dog hump a cat? From the side? Hardeharharhar funny stuff. He submits for all of 15 seconds before he leaps out of her grasp. She licks her bearded chops as though to say, "another time my pretty, another time."

But, the antics of my nutty, (apparently horny, at least in Diamond's case, though I'm convinced Buttah has a love jones for Pete, yes in that way) furry babies is not the topic today. No, the topic today is the monthly visitor. Well, not monthly anymore but certainly still visiting, at least this month. One moment while I, aaarrrrrrrgggggggahhhh!

Ok.

Now, the odd, unfinished, barely formed dreams make sense. Well, not the dreams but the fact of the dreams. See, I hardly dream. Or rather, I hardly ever remember (any parts) of my dreams. But recently there was the dream that started with my daughter in one of my old childhood homes that ending with me and a stranger (guy) dancing. The other night I dreamt that I was being forced to wear high heeled shoes. Ugly, high heeled shoes. Last night's dream had my daughter becoming my mother, my son became my father, and the animals became my in-laws. We were sitting down to a meal and arguing about papayas.

What confounds me about the visitor "Auntie Flo" especially in this stage (since my early to mid forties) of life aside from never knowing when or even that it will arrive is that every pre-arrival is different. Sometimes it is insomnia. Others, I crave salty food. And still others, I crave sweets, especially chocolate. Sometimes all of those conditions barrel in on me at once. This time it is the dreams. And while I linked my recent (and current) eczema flare-up to the stress over the job situation and concern over family and friends, I wonder if there is a tie-in to the visitor.

Anyhoo...I'll deal. The one positive about the most recent visits, well, actually, there are two positives: 1. they are infrequent (at least this past year) and 2. they don't last long (at least this past year). I do so hope the 10 plus day cycles are all ovah!

But, even more confounding that the visits, the pre-visit symptoms, and all the rest . . . even more confounding is why in the blue blazes is the Diva Dog eating the cat's poop?

Will have to tackle that another day. Now, I shall finish the coffee and sneak away quietly as Pete, Diamond, and Buttah are enjoying an after breakfast nap. Nap one of two hundred, the most important nap of the day.

R*A*I*N**

During Saturday morning errands the bike and me got caught in the rain. Not, mind you, a light summer rain, but sheets of rain. And thunder. And lightning.

I don't like riding in the rain, but especially don't like riding in flash flood type rains. So, I took cover under the massive awning of a massive gas station. I stepped inside the mini-mart to to purchase some tissues to use for wiping off my glasses and blowing my nose hoping the cold I was working out of my system wouldn't find a way back in.

While waiting out the torrential rain, songs began to flood my mind.

Songs about rain.

I made it home without getting too damp but damp enough to shed the clothes, jump in the shower, take a dose of cold and allergy (for the eczema) meds and lie myself down, forgetting about the rain and the songs.

Until today, when walking home from the train I got caught in the rain. And the songs came pouring back into my mind.

Over The Rainbow with a . . . Twist bled into Bring On The Rain followed by Can You Stop the Rain which naturally led me to query Who'll Stop The Rain.

A couple of claps of thunder later and I couldn't stop thinking of Singing In The Rain from falling, falling . . . Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.

Shaking that tune loose opened the gates to simply, Rain, Fire and Rain, Mandolin Rain, and Purple Rain. The lightning dancing across the sky put me in the mind of a Rainy Night in Georgia leaking into She's My Kind of Rain, which makes me weep (still, a bit) as does, I Wish It Would Rain, every time I hear it.

The rains did let up enough to continue on with the chores but on the way home there was reason to exclaim, Here Comes The Rain Again .

And finally, Don't Rain On My Parade. These are not necessarily my favorite rain themed songs but are the floating mostly freely about my being. Well, that said, I guess, in one way or another, they are favored.

Feel free to share your rainy day songs.

And oh, since wer'e talking about rain check out Perpetuum Jazzile simulating rain--and singing. (another eb find, natch)

**homage to blogger friend--she knows. :-)
***And to Miss "I'm not a damn poodle!" here's to having lunch without an audience. :-)

A Dream (partial)

This has not been one of my better weeks. Between the stress of the work situation, the cold I try to rationalize away, and the eczema flare-up (my neck is raw--aaarrgggh) lopped atop my already wonky sleep pattern, well, let's just say, tired, cranky, somewhat un-focused has been the order of the days.

Additionally, there have been dreams. Or rather, snippets of dreams. Or more accurately, I'm only remembering the snippets of some of the dreams. As in:

My daughter was nine or ten and apparently, my only child. We were living in a house that looked very much like the rental my family lived at one point during my own childhood.

It was a sunny day, and daughter yelled that she was going outside to play and taking her bike. I heard her struggle to pull the bike from a front closet, and then the screen door slam shut. Making my way to the front to latch the door, annoyed by the sight of her toddler bike sitting in the middle of the hall--a constant reminder that she's older and that bike should be given away, as it is taking up room we don't have--I hear noises on the porch.

Curious, but a bit alarmed, I rush to latch the screen door. The man with two small children, gender indeterminate, appear to be deciding who should knock--when they realize, as one, that knocking isn't necessary.

Addressing the man, I ask, "may I help you?" He begins to talk while at the same time, reaching for the door. Though re-latched, he begins to pull on the door. I ask them all to please leave my porch. The children sit down while the man continues to pull on the door. I know it will give soon, so I yell, "PLEASE LEAVE or I'll call the police", as I move to close the wooden door.

In the next moment, the man was inside the house pleading, "please, let's just have some fun." The children remained seated on the porch. I ask the man again to please leave. He responded to my request by beginning to dance. Well, not dancing so much as . . . performing, or rather, exercising.

Ala, Hip-Hop Abs.

Then, I'm awake with a cat (the orange one) on my chest.

The Worst

Coughing, that is the worst. You're on the train and the fit comes over you. Best not to try to suppress, for that only makes matters worse. You hack and wheeze up a lung. Some riders try to ignore you, others stare daggers at you as though you are deliberately trying to make them sick, while still others, offer you a cough drop.

Or ten.

Coughing, that is the worst.

Or no, worst than coughing is the sneak attack sneeze. That sneeze that results in a big wad of snot shooting out your nose, and dangling down over your lips, chin. All before you were able to grab a tissue from the pack . . . you left on your desk.

Damn.

Bite Me, No...Wait.

The story alluded to in the earlier post isn't written. It may be written at some point, but can't be written now.

There was a beginning, or rather, the workings of a beginning but it hasn't gone much further. Yet.

And perhaps it won't. Like I said before, I can't think. I'm not drinking today, but still, I can't think. That is to say that I'm having trouble thinking beyond the here and now. And what is here and now is work. jobs. sales. finances. and yes, eating. drinking. and too, having the where-with-all to be some kind of merry. Not to mention the where-with-all to maintain hearth and home.

For the moment, a personal impending crisis been averted. I can't go further than that because it feels . . .well, I'm still somewhat . . . wow. Still, as distressing as the prospective news was, it wasn't devastating. It could have been worse. And it may be at some point, but for now, I'm breathing a tad bit easier today than I was the other.

In other news, I haven't had any potato chips in since just before I turned fifty. Oh sure, that may not big news to you, but to me? It's gi-norm-us.


*click the pic h/t

Six Hundred and Forty Six

As far as actual posts it is six hundred and forty five, but I have a draft pending, which may in fact, be deleted because I'm having a bit of difficulty framing the thoughts---it's a story, from a photo prompt. I may scrap it because, I'm having difficulty framing the thoughts.

The thoughts that continue to circle my mind are mired in devastation--and various folks reaction to same. And I suppose I can frame my story around the thoughts that are circling my mind, but I don't want to--well, I do, but I don't.

I know, I'm not making any sense. You see, I've been drinking. I haven't had a drink all week, until today and today I've had three. Well, two and two-thirds.

The story could be up-lifting, but I'm not feeling at all up-lifted at the moment. So, best to table the story, for now. But, like I typed previously, I may scrap it altogether.

An old acquaintance, dare I say friend (though, until recently we hadn't spoken or seen one another for many, many years) was curious about my transition from straight to gay--you see, she knew me when . .

I linked to a couple of my previous posts on the topic. Re-reading her email I find I'm intrigued by the wording . . .transition which, if I were more sober I could elaborate. But, I'm not. And so, I can't.

A neighbor is playing a piano concerto (recording) over and over. It was irritating the first 50 times, now I realize it is drowning out the diva dog's snores. And so, play on.

Skoal.

And one last thing: I wish I could say that I'm surprised or amazed at the cruelty of humans. But sadly, I am not. Some folks are cruel, mean, sadistic, s.o.b.s. And to those meanies who are making the lives of my friends miserable, shame on you...you sniveling sacks of snot.

And on that note, I'm going to try to get some sleep.

Peace out.

Can't Think of A Title, But Don't Like "Un-titled"

1. My eyes are watery, yet dry and scratchy. Allergies.

2. Number one is making for challenging work days and yet another cause for sleepless nights.

3. Still, I manage to get another Gayborhood entry done.

4. I don't think I mentioned August's entry.

5. Have I mentioned how much fun these are to do? Oh sure, I agonize over a topic for a few days, but that's part of the fun. :)

6. If you're checking out the Gayborhood, YaY and Thank You.

7. If you're not . . . . well, think about it. Good stuff. Seriously.

8. My older brother is 52 today. Cheers to him, wherever he is.

9. My dad celebrated number 72 earlier this month. Cheers to him, wherever he is.

10. Several friends and acquaintances are experiencing some challenging times these days. I'm in the midst of my own challenging situation (beyond the watery, scratchy allergy eyes). But, this to all of you, my heart and thoughts are with you.

Peace.

Sing With Me, Dance With Me

Sleep, has been hard to reach and harder to hold these past few weeks. For a bit I thought it was the excitement of turning half a hundred. And while that may have been part of it, there are other factors as well, I've come to speculate.

One glaring factor, I'm reasonably certain, is that dagnabbit change o' life crapola. Those heat spurts that I didn't experience through much of my forties and which began as slow burns are now hot. flashing. in every sense of those words. I'm reasonably certain I'm drinking much too much beer, but water (even icy) just ain't gettin' it done.

This new state of affairs will require a bit of study and more adjusting.

Still, the heat and said effects are only partly at issue. I think. Also in play, close the door. let me rub your back when you say it's sore, come on get closer and closer, so close to me baby, let's get lost in each other, come here baby*

Or rather, ahem..

Not, mind you that there is anyone (at present) with whom to explore, experience, explo . . . well, you get the idea. But, the heat, so to speak, full on. Is that a fifties thing? Anyhoo . .

I am also experiencing a bit of a crush. It won't go anywhere, has no where to go, but at the moment, said crush is getting me going, if you feel me as the (well, some) kids say.

In the meantime, turn off the lights, and light a candle, tonight I'm in a romantic mood. Let's take a shower, shower together, I'll wash your body, you'll wash mine. Rub me down in some hot oils baby, and I'll do the same thing to you. . .* ahem..

In the meantime. Ice. Cold. Relief. Please. Thanks.

*lyrics from T. Pendergrass (Close the Door & Turn Off The Lights)