A jubilant mother is not an uncommon sight in our household. Here she is in her spacious loft studio, excited at my record blogging streak of TWO WHOLE DAYS!
I wanted to write about something interesting, but I've forgotten what it was, so I'll just mention that last night I dreamt about tricking my captors into swimming in an oatmeal ocean as I escaped into a conveniently located forest.
Brilliant, I know.
I wish I was one of those just intrinsically fascinating people; you know, the kind that let it slip that they are Christian scholars of the Yiddish Theater, or experts on the taxonomy of the Falkland Islands.
I think I'll try to learn Yiddish. It would be nice if my brain was hard-wired to understand space-time continuoms, metaphysics, or suitcase packing, but I'll just have to accept my mediocre understanding of such things and focus my energy on....twig dissections.
1 comment:
But your cat is Monet. That should at least be good for something. I mean, you can have this conversation:
RANDOM PERSON: Do you have any pets?
KS: Yes. I have a cat named Monet.
RP: What kind of cat?
KS: No, I mean that the artist Claude Monet has been living in our house for the past eight years under the impression that he is a feline. I think he had some sort of head injury. That's why people thought he was dead. He actually just had amnesia and disappeared for a while, before reappearing in my kitchen requesting kitty snacks and towel baths.
RP: Oh ...
KS: NONBELIEVER!
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