Wow, I’ve hit a wall.
I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve run out of things to blog about.
Of course, I could write about the cats. How I think of them as furry people with four feet and claws and really unpleasant personalities. Or, how I’ve been trying to modify their behavior using water aversion therapy. No, not waterboarding, but that’s always an option. Just a 99 cent squirt gun. But the little buggers take up too much of my time as it is. With the food (feed us!) and the water (we’re so thirsty!) and the litter boxes (not clean enough for us!) and the neediness (tell us you love us! again! again!). They have serious self-esteem issues, which is probably why they act out. I’ve been working on a musical/opera for them. Like Cats but way better. It is dramatic and poetic and grand (sung in my opera voice), and the cats like it very, very much, thank you. “You are good cats. Very, very good cats …”
There’s the home repairs, but I’m over them. They are b-o-r-i-n-g. So is cleaning and organizing and making the house presentable. Dust and clutter? Nothing wrong with them, says this guy.
My sexual orientation? Still gay.
Things with W and I are good. Sometimes we have to pretend fight to keep things interesting.
Newsflash: My parents are coming to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. That’s good, because they’ll be spending the holiday with us. And, bad because they’ll be spending the holiday with us. What more is there to say?
I bought “nap socks” from Brookstone. They are super soft and warm and fuzzy. They can be worn for more than just napping, like sleeping and walking and standing, which makes me question the marketing strategy behind this product. The black and gray ones make me feel Dr. Seuss-ish. Like Leslie Lou O’Lesbian or the Butchalot.
More socks … I’m thinking about throwing out all of our single, mateless socks. But I’m not ready yet. I still like living in a fantasy world in which every sock has a partner. Forever.
As you can see, I have absolutely nothing to write about tonight.