Day three of this damnable stomach thing. Nothing like Barfathon 2006 was, okay. Just mild indigestion. I function pretty well, even sneaking in a KM workout last night.
But one sure gets tired of the guts being in a state of general displeasure.
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8:29am and I'm in the van, driving to work, thinking about beauty. And the windows are up, so no one can hear me singing: "I'm sure you had your chance… you had your chance, and all you got was a sweet life…"
It's a drug, that song.
***
Christmas has snuck up on me for sure. It's been almost all MOBB this year. That is, she's done the decorating (both inside and out), bought the gifts and, like this morning, saved my ass when I needed a gift for some office wingding I knew nothing about.
***
8:30am and the van is parked, but I'm not walking into the office like I should. I'm still singing: "The tarmac flows as planes touch down. They want to know: Do you still get high?"
In Heaven I'll be able to sing.
***
Rumble grumble rumble. These stupid guts of mine.
***
Reading a book to THEBOY last night, I simply could not say the line, "What would a witch want with a winch in a swamp?" He and I laughed and laughed as I tried over and over, sounding like Elmer Fudd every time.
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Hey, got to my Myspace page and check out the bitchin' graphic Motorhead left in my comments…
***
Happy
Tuesday.
Appreciate the beauty around you.
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