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Wednesday, Jun. 09, 2004 / 10:18 p.m. ~Anticipation~ I just remembered to look forward to peeing later. I ate asparagus. Roasted, with garlic and mushrooms, olive oil. Oy, it's all so heavy in my mouth, still. But the peeing comes later, and that smell, well, you know. Sleep deprived, punchy earlier, way way punchy. Prone to silly blog postings online, prone to disrespect, in the most respectfully silly way. And now? This full of flavor mouth, still. I've held off on the fluids for Gladys because she seems to be feeling too damned good. I don't want to stick her if I don't have to. Not that I want her to feel miserable first, but we're still in the 'once a week' range. Tomorrow, in fact, is one week since. Still undecided, still monitoring. I hope she lasts a long time, I hope she lives as long as I do. That would be nice, if we could die together, all of us, the three of us, in our sleep. Maybe carbon monoxide? Not purposefully, but some odd accident. That would make it all so much easier, ya know? I just yawned a loud yawn and Gladys looked at me and said, "Huh? What?". I need to write a book about them, the two crazy cats that live here. A children's book. What do you think? Aw hell, who am I kidding, I'm not talking to anyone, it's nothing but lurkers here, I know. Oh, and the few who aren't. Guess what? Madonna was saying, yes, Madonna, that if 100 people tell her they loved her performance, but one person tells her he hated it, she only concerns herself with that one, wants to know why. It's the same with me. Did that make sense? Suddenly, as it's always quite suddenly, I am fooking exhausted. Long week already. And I'm hearing Bernard Hermann's score to "Vertigo" emanating from the living room. This must be the part where Jimmy Stewart 'tails' Kim Novak all over San Francisco. Nothing but score. Hitchock night on TCM, I guess. They showed "Psycho" earlier, and I was cooking, and cleaning and such, but poked my head in the living room just to see bits of the shower scene, and my favorite scene, the one where Martin Balsam falls backwards down the staircase, all helter skelter, arms and legs akimbo, sort of, slow motion-y, focus pull-y, crazy and creative and hokey. Good stuff. Okay, another huge yawn, time to feed the girls. And Morgan Spurlock is going to be on "The Daily Show", so it looks to be another late night. What, don't know who Morgan Spurlock is? Go see "Super Size Me", tomorrow, today, now, I command thee. Oh, I didn't win the lottery again last night. Sucks. Cost of the War in Iraq
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