At Least They're Committed

Squealing, laughing, clapping my hands and kicking my feet. I do, I do, I doooo recognize and embrace joy! But, hell yeah, Ellen’s right. My blog is depressing. I uuused to know how to write witty, funny stuff. Must, must, must figure out how to do it again! After all, this is for the grandchildren I’ll never meet and, Jesus, at this rate I’ll lose ’em on Page 3.

Think, think, think . . . oh, did you know that there are philosophy courses and books centered on Winnie the Pooh?

So, where was I.  That’s right! Baking cookies with Caitlin and Danielle! We thought they were chocolate chip but they were Reese’s. I still had three. It was absolutely the best of times and it’s an odd little life thing because Danielle had fallen and broken her nose the day before and we were all mortified and panicked, but Caitlin and I had already planned on going over to her place Friday night to do the birthday cookies (Caitlin bought the dough for mine and Danielle’s birthdays). She was still up for it! Great timing. Great times. Period.

Oh, why, why, why can’t I remember all the things that made us laugh and Danielle, with a split lip, chuckling so hard trying to keep her upper lip in place so it didn’t break open again? Me playing with Otis and not pulling away from his back claws quickly enough and rubbing my left forearm on my black slacks so she wouldn’t see the blood and feel guilty.

OH SHIT!!! That was fun and funny to me and yet it still comes off as macabre. Pththttt!

I’ll keep trying. I promise.