water and air

There is too much to write down, always.  Sometimes I get the itch and then sit and stare at this text-input mechanism  and stare and stare and then lose my nerve and close the window because the flotsam hasn't settled, the doves haven't roosted, the honey hasn't crystallized. 

Are any of these metaphors working for you?

Dandy is drinking my contact solution.  She is so cute but her paws are like little fuzzy cacti right now and I need to trim them as soon as she chills out for awhile.  

 

When I was 18 a freckle appeared on my right palm, on the "pad" I guess right below my index finger.  I do not know what freckles appearing on palms mean.  I spend too much time telling you that I do not know this or that, or what this or that means; I'll work on that.  It's just that I've still never found an answer, and nobody else I've ever known has a freckle on their palm (that I've noticed).   

I almost deleted whatever I whined about clothing yesterday but I decided not to because I wrote it, there it is.  There are all kinds of me and sometimes I am more true than other times, sometimes I am an exaggeration of the truth, sometimes I am the truth under an unfriendly lens, is this making any sense?  It's pre-nicotine and caffeine morning time again.