She sighed as she finished off
that small slice of juicy steak
And pushed her baked potato
to the left side uneaten
Nibbled on her ten pieces
of broccoli andante
Passed up the dessert menu
and sipped instead on a cup
full of steamy hot coffee
Then...unwrapping her small stick
of sugar-free chewing gum
She stood on that cold hard scale
of many disappointments
And wondered if dieting
was transforming her to a
pessimistic little sourpuss.
I'm magnesium deficient thanks to all those calcium citrate tabs I've been taking to prevent arthritic pain with a ratio of 2 to 1 instead of 1 to 1 calcium and magnesium. I'm on the 1 to 1 ratio now, but read that it will take at least a year for my body to balance out. In the meantime extra malic acid with magnesium capsules come in handy when the legs begin cramping. Wish I had known before all those hundreds of charlie horses of my before today life...but...you know what they say about wishing.
The little red Toyota Solara past 3000,000 miles last week. 2002 was a very good year for that little bugger being born.
When one begins to name their outdoor cats, they've gone down that slippery slope of its just temporary to cat lady purgatory. I don't now how to find the other two kittens homes. There have been nibbles from the vet clinic techs that are on the lookout, but no one has been reeled in hook, line, and sinker. To think beyond today is to feel oneself whirling around that vortex towards the center of the whirlpool and into drowning mode. I've never been fond of breathing water :( I've never been a fond one of betrayal either, so...
Jamie's a talker...I guess that's what we'll call it. Like higher pitched purrie trills when he's intrigued or engaged in the moment with play by himself, another cat, or person; his mother's trademark inherited by him.
It's a kitten thing...his playtime, or hell time as the rest of us like to call it. Kitty dearest taking a flying leap at you with needle point claws extended and teeth in gnawing mode is a lot to reckon with. Lacey's becoming a little sadistic in her playtime encounters, tackling him to the ground with front legs wrapped around his neck, and hind feet kicking the bejeezers out of the little stinker. That half-pint masochist kitty just keeps coming back for more.
There's nothing that sends this gardener to hell in a hand basket quicker than the forecast of another day of rain while she's waist deep in weeds racing the cloud covered sun for that last bit of plant strangulation before nightfall. I've fallen from that pedestal of gardening master, to that low lying weed lady whose butt seems to always be above her head as she yanks out one intruder after another. I feel like my entire summer job is the Weed Slayer of Down-The-Drain Gardens.
The vegetable garden...it's still in the seed packets, which are still in the kitchen.