me and my piece of paper

Now spell check free!

The kitten is doing fine. Since you asked. It was touch and go for a minute. For instance, she will eat on her own one day, then require the eye dropper the next. Sometimes it's formula. Sometimes it's cat food. Sometimes it's neither.

I don't know what her deal is.

But it's ok. I'm going to cut her some slack for the time being.

Otherwise, I'm just sitting here. Waiting for my sandwich to arrive..

There was some minor drama in my life last week. Which, due to a need to write it down and sort it out, briefly necessitated that I start another blog. But only briefly. I didn't go through with it.

Too bad. What happened is unbelievable. That is, no one would ever believe me. And, funny to such a degree that I get chills just thinking about it. And the rest of it is just sad. However, in retrospect, the sad parts (which account for the remainder of what happened) are hysterically funny when taken out of context. With a small percentage of the whole thing (6%) being heartbreaking. With that 6%, I'm afraid, not at all being funny when taken out of context. And, if I may be so presumptuous, you would probably be disappointed in me for about 2% of the story.

And, I just realized, I have told no one what happened. Which is weird. It feels like I've told people about this.

As mentioned, I didn't write in the other blog. I did set it up, though. I chose a template and everything. I used my full name and social security number as both the address and title for this other blog. I felt such an address would, if nothing else, keep me honest as well as invite an whole new level of trouble into my life.

But I caught myself mid process, and aborted the whole thing. What was I doing?

I used to just write stuff and save it to a file. And, really, why can't I simply write on a piece of paper anymore? It used to be like that. Just me. Me and my piece of paper. No audience. Real or perceived. Just that of my pen.

Just the pen and me and a piece of paper and vodka.

And whenever too much paper or truth or lies ecrued, I would toss my couple of notebooks over a particular bridge into the Chicago River. Just toss them in. Or I would set them on fire. Just small fires in my kitchen sink. Harmless. A couple of sheets of paper at a time. No big emergency or anything. Though it smelled bad, and probably made the neighbors nervous. But it never set off any smoke detectors. Mostly because I disable all smoke detectors right off the bat. And it felt good. The purging, drowning, or otherwise burning at the stake of my diary. Obviously, this was before I had a shredder. Though, trust me, I've done that, too..

Not recently, though. Not recently enough.