October 6, 2004
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I know I wonder why they are still typing when I read something along the lines of “I’m so bored.” I’m not bored but I will need to dig deep to get past my state of dreariness. The rain has come. That means that the door will remain closed; that I will need to locate my waterproof shoes and boots; that my summer clothes must go to the back of the closet. The puppy’s not diggin’ the rain, either. The animals all take one look and turn back into the house. I think it’s time for a fire. It’s time for that first pot of soup. In the summer all I have to do is step outside and everything’s good. With the rain, I must have music on, be cooking something, and my house must be in order. That’s what’s bothering me: the disorder. If you could see the floor right now, you’d be appalled. My thinking is that whatever lands there is fair game for the puppy. Right now she’s demolishing the paper around a hanger. The wrapping that the oriental rug was rolled up in is lying over by the door, and that’s been fun to charge at. My youngest sister is coming over today, if she’s not put off by my cold. She can watch the puppy while I get stuff put away. Why am I still typing?
