I May Need an Intervention

But not yet. I have so much to share.

I think this dictation software is making my blogging compulsion a little too easy. I don't want to fall victim to this little habit and become a pale, night owl homebody like some overweight, unemployed, grown man who lives in his parents' basement and eats Cheetos while playing Dungeons & Dragons on the Internet all day and trolls for underage virtual 'tang all night. I must say I do enjoy the solitude and the almost unfettered release of worthless thoughts and useless ideas that would otherwise evaporate and never be savored by my legions of clamoring voyeurs. Writing is where my heart is. This is my therapy. Not that I need any, mind you.

I started working last night on a post about music, but I have so much ground to cover in that area, I may have to issue it in installments. Look for the first one soon.

I got about 30 minutes of sleep last night. Too bad they weren't consecutive. By the time I realized I was not going to get a good night's sleep, it was too late to take an Ambien. I did doze off long enough to have a dream (actually a nightmare) that Matt Lauer met an untimely demise. I only mention this here in case something does happen to him. This way I'll have proof of my budding psychic abilities. I just had one of those restless nights with nothing specific but everything in general on my mind. It may also have had something to do with the fact that I have been trying to sleep in the middle of the bed. You know, that sort of hump where it still feels like a new mattress? Because not enough time is spent there? Sure, it's nice to have the whole bed to myself where I can spread out, but I can't reach my lamp at night, and worse yet, I can't reach the snooze button in the mornings.

Luke pulled another little molar last night, and this time he had the courtesy to remind me to remind the tooth fairy to make a visit. A few weeks ago, she forgot and I had to sneak some cash under the head of his bed when he woke up upset that she had forgotten him. I caught him a few days later looking under the bed for more money. I need to sit him down and explain that he is too old for this tooth fairy stuff. He has already had braces, now wears retainers at night, and will be (God willing) in sixth grade next year. Enough with the fairy visits. Maybe he'll just let me cut out the middleman.

I came home to a clean house yesterday. I try to save up my errands for the times that the cleaning people are here so I can be gone and not feel indulgent or guilty or elitist. That word elitist troubles me. I was going to say that it has been bandied about a lot lately, but the phrase bandied about troubles me as well. Contrary to the soft-core imagery Chris expressed in one of his recent comments, my Latina cleaning lady (while I do love her) is neither young nor hot. But I'll keep you posted on the youth and hotness level of the many potential landscape maintenance boys who tell me they fit the stringent criteria in my Craigslist ad. As I'm sure you'll understand, I'll be quite busy with interviews this weekend, so just leave me a voicemail and I'll get back to you later.

Now I need to get back to the drudgery of writing a brief for the only client that I have absolutely no sympathy for. Right after I take the dog to the groomer and maybe go get a pedicure.