I’m so glad the week is over. It was one of those weeks that just lasted forever, even with a day off in the middle of it. I thought about going to the movies after leaving work, but I was so bloated and gassy from the shrimp lo mein I had for lunch that the thought of sitting in a movie theater for a longish period of time just made me nauseous. Instead, I swung by the grocery store and then came home, put the groceries away, straightened out the pantry, tossed a lot of stuff, and waited for Fred to get home from work. Oh, and I started the laundry train rolling along. It’s my dream to finish the laundry on Friday night, just once. Most often I get one or two loads done Friday night and have to do the bulk of it Saturday morning with a few straggling sweaters or shirts that can’t be washed with everything else getting finished up Sunday. I hate it when laundry spills over into Sunday, though. I try my damnedest to keep Sunday a laundry-free day, but it rarely happens that way.
Hey, this is some exciting stuff, isn’t it? What will I talk about next, dryer lint? Woohoo, somebody stop me!
Spanky is in a somewhat clingy mood these days. Everywhere I am, he wants to be. It’s like having a 2 year-old. I like my privacy in the bathroom, but if I should — God forbid — go in and shut the door, he’s out in the hallway screaming for me. "Momma! Momma!" he howls. "Momma, whyfor have thou forsaken me? Oh my God, I’ll never see my Momma again!" and then he stands on his hind legs and digs at the door near the doorknob. The other cats often gather to observe. When I’m annoyed enough, I reach over and open the door so he can join me. The other cats either scatter or gather around the doorway to sniff appreciatively. Spanky winds back and forth between my feet, purring loudly. When he’s happiest (which is a lot), he has a very loud purr with kind of a catch in it. He sounds as if he’s singing, like a cricket, rather than purring, so we call it (can you guess?!) his "cricket purr." He’s been purring his cricket purr a lot lately, especially in my ear. He seems to be especially attached to me when it’s close to my period. Fred suggests it’s the estrogen in the air, which it very well might be; the other cats tend to get a little nuts at the same time Spanky gets friendly, so perhaps it’s hormonal. My hormones, that is, not theirs. They were all fixed long before they got a chance to develop any hormones of their own.
So aside from doing laundry this evening, I’ve been paying bills and making a CD for myself. Our new computers came with nifty CD Reader-Writers, and I went through some of my CDs and made a mix. There’s all kinds of stuff on there, from Elton John to Edwin McCain, to Live, to Tim McGraw. Right now "Wrong Again" by Martina McBride is playing. I love that song. I really like slow, depressing songs. I used to have Pearl Jam’s "Black" dubbed on the front and back of a tape and would listen to it over and over. It’s one of the few songs of which I never tired. (yes, that sentence did previously read "few songs which I’ve never gotten tired of." I try to be grammatically correct sometimes. Wanna make something of it?)
Fred and the spud are watching another "Nightmare on Elm Street" movie. I went upstairs to put some laundry away and saw Patricia Arquette and said "Hey, it’s Pamie!" If you haven’t seen pictures of Pamie, she’s a dead ringer for Patricia Arquette, only better looking (which I guess wouldn’t make her a total dead ringer, but you know what I mean). A short conversation with Fred ensued whereupon we discussed the Arquette family:
Fred: Damn, she got the looks in the family, didn’t she?
Robyn: Yeah, totally. Except, there’s one last brother who’s entering showbiz, and he’s pretty cute.
Fred: He’s gotta be better-looking than Alexis.
We have truly scintillating conversations, don’t we? I know you’re jealous.
—–]]>