No Animals Were Harmed in the Breaking of My Foot

Amazing, what with all the animals in my house, but true. I can’t even blame any of them for this mishap (unlike when I fell down the basement stairs 13 years ago after tripping over a cat–I broke my tailbone and nearly broke my arm) and then a year later rammed my little toe & side of left foot into the corner of the cedar chest outside my bedroom door after swerving around the same cat who ran across my path at the wrong time).

It’s A Dog-Eat-Sharon World

Mutts or shepherds, mastiffs or terriers, I’ve never been afraid of dogs. I’ve always been a hands-on, roll-around-in-the-grass-with-the-puppies kind of girl. While friends of mine were getting bitten by dogs who’d been teased or were wired wrong, I’d lay in the grass reading after schoclab2chool, my head resting on those same dogs.

Crap Rat

There is crap everywhere: tucked in boxes and stuffed into the corners of rooms; in green plastic garbage bags like Dexter’s victims and piled, forgotten, in a little used area of the bedroom; in plastic Rubbermaid totes shoved into the loft; in decrepit cardboard boxes, layered in the dust of the ages, neatly stacked in the attic.

Surviving the Cataclysm

I felt like that lady in OfficeSpace–the one who answers the phone multi-line phone with the same greeting over and over: “Financial Aid, how may I help you? Financial Aid, how may I help you?” Talk about conditioning–I don’t salivate at the ring of the bell; I get up to answer the phone.