Dog

Toll Road Ahead

Well, I haven’t gotten any further on Astonishing, and no beach days, but we’ve done a little exploring of the Northeast. And by exploring, I mean dropping off Nerd Child at his summer program and visiting Man Child and Miss Lovely Music. We went to eat at the restaurant where Man Child is working, and this picky picky Mama says without hesitation the food was delicious.

Much as I drool over the fantasy of a beach vacation, it’s been glorious to take a couple of opportunities to leave the city, and just breathe. The air really does smell different–and we weren’t on any farms, so no manure, just sweet. Bonus points for allowing myself to have time away from screens without guilt.

As a bonus while traveling, the dealership we bought the car through screwed up. We paid extra to have a navigation system and iPod thingie put in. The navigation system stopped working after two days. Then we discover the DVD player isn’t working anymore either. Turns out they disabled the DVD player in order to place the new GPS–but didn’t tell us. Nice business practice. So glad we went there, so we could feel confident we’d be treated decently by Husband’s relatives.

We’ve never had a DVD player in a car before, wasn’t on our list of necessities–hell, it wasn’t even on our wish list. But it came in the car we bought, and I assume the cost was built into the price of the vehicle. Now they have to replace the whole navigation/iPod/radio unit, because the one they put in really isn’t working, it wasn’t that we hit a wrong button. And they tell us we can’t have the DVD player working anymore–unless we want to pay more to have them install a different DVD unit. WTF?!

I, of course, want my money back. Take the damn car somewhere else to have a system installed. Nope, they can’t/won’t give us a refund. So glad I spent a gajillion dollars for a car with a bazillion miles on it, so I can have all the little perks that make traveling more pleasant. Fuck!

We arrived home much later than expected after visiting Man Child, caught behind a s-l-o-w moving vehicle on a twisty two lane highway. I walked into the apartment holding my breath, and was unsurprised to see puddles on the floor. Hmmm, that’s an awfully big puddle for Little Incredibly Dumb Dog. Must have been Big Senile Dog. Wait, no, that isn’t his pee-in-the-house pattern. Cause, yanno, if he’s going to have an accident, he likes to dance around as he does so he can pretend it isn’t him–and leaving a trail everywhere. Both of them?!?! Nope, turned out my Swiffer mop sprang a leak, and it was all cleaning solution. I now have one very clean area of the living room floor, especially the undersides of the planks, where it all sank in. Lovely.

We plan to leave the city again for a couple of days next week, to do some further exploring and explore my Mrs Fringe wants to live in the country fantasies. Manhattan may be an island, but you can forget any thoughts of cool breezes. Asphalt and concrete traps every last bit of breathable air during a heat wave. Tar Beach, indeed. The heat wave is over now, though, and today is gray and cool. Really cool. No winning in the city this summer.

I used to be one of those moms who always meant to bring the camera, but would either forget to charge it or forget to bring it. Now, because of blogging, I bring the camera most times. Embarrassing to the boys, I get it, I look like a tourist. “But it’s for the blog!” has become my battle cry.

Photos…

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Is It Over Yet?

Pass the watermelon, would ya?

I am ready to be smack in the middle of this photo. My mind is, anyway. The calendar says not yet. Come to think of it, my abs aren’t so sure either, I haven’t worked out in way too long. It can’t be bothering me that much, or I’d get my butt onto the yoga mat and start crunching.

Instead, I’m still working on the damned synopsis. I have a completed draft. It needs a gastric bypass, and then some serious CPR.

Little Incredibly Dumb Dog decided she’d help me out by eating my flash drive. This way there’s no evidence of those wasted hours when I hit the delete button, and I burned a few calories chasing her to get it out of her tiny, vise-like jaws.

Don’t let the bad haircut fool you, she isn’t innocent.

Maybe if I put the printed synopsis between my teeth as I hold the chair pose, both flabby abs and prose will tighten up.

Hidden Dangers

I’m pretty sure the overt dangers of life in NY have been well covered by the media. Overblown, even.

English: Heavily tagged subway car in NY in 1973. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The trains don’t even look like this anymore. As a New Yorker, I have and always have had a certain comfort level with the stuff that makes tourists clutch their purses. Yes, I rode the trains at all kinds of hours, even when they still looked like the above photo. Not only rode them, but I’d fall asleep–almost always waking up just as the doors opened at my stop.

Safety tips can be summarized quickly. Look like you know where you’re going, and do so at a reasonable pace. Don’t gawk. Don’t be stupid (flashing cash, jewelry, etc). Flashing boobage is questionable. It’s legal in NY, you can’t be arrested for it, but I think we’ve got a little way to go before it’s safe to be a topless female waiting for the 4 train. And oh yeah, watch out for subway grates when you’re walking down the sidewalk in stilettos.

In Central Park relax, enjoy, and don’t walk through by yourself after dark or before other joggers/bikers/dogwalkers are up and about. Don’t pet the squirrels (nasty and rabid) or feed the pigeons (gross). C’mon, it’s self explanatory. Same rules as NYers. Don’t stare ’em down, keep moving, leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. Or be prepared to be the crazier one, but that’s another post.

Central Park (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Occasionally you can spot a raccoon in the park. Never heard of one that didn’t have rabies, don’t pet it, or send your dog after it. I saw something in a tree staring down at me last week, I swear it looked like a sloth. Tried to get a photo, but dusk in the park and my camera phone don’t seem to care for each other. Sometimes there are other bizarre animals to be found in there that don’t belong at all, generally because some bozo thought an exotic pet was a good idea when it was cute and little. Then it got big, angry, and tried to eat its owner, so Mr Macho decided to release it into the “wild” of Central Park. Thanks.

Yesterday I learned something new. There’s poison ivy in parts of the park. Not only did I not know that, it never occurred to me. For me, that’s under the category of “things to learn about if I go rural.”

This morning I was walking my beasts. Not even 7AM, just walking down the street, not in the park, and we were accosted by a sparrow. It has to be one of the most bizarre experiences I’ve ever had. This little twit hopped out from under the orange netting of a construction site and chirp chirp cheeped at Little Incredibly Dumb Dog. OK, I figure the thing must be confused, built a nest in the wrong place, I pulled my little fluffball away. Then the thing went after Big Senile Dog. Really?! I can’t tell you how uninterested BSD is in birds, squirrels, etc. I beg him to frighten the pigeons off of the terrace, but if they aren’t in his sunning spot, he just doesn’t give a shit. He kept walking, in search of the ideal poop spot. The sparrow chased after us, twittering and chirping and hopping while Little Incredibly Dumb Dog kept yapping, until the bird got Big Stupid Dog’s attention. He, of course, decides it must be a pre breakfast snack and opens his mouth. I hauled both dogs away as his teeth were about two centimeters from the little morsel, convinced we had come across a rabid sparrow.

I consulted with my good buddy Googles when I got home, it turns out, birds don’t get rabies. Guess it was plain old New Yorkitude.

English: House Sparrow Deutsch: Haussperling Svenska: Gråsparv (Passer domesticus) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s OK, My Dog is Friendly

English: "A Mad Dog in a Coffee-House&quo...

English: “A Mad Dog in a Coffee-House” by Rowlandson, showing a rabid dog terrorizing a coffee house in 18th century England (possibly Garrison’s or Jonathan’s, near the Exchange). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Um, no it isn’t ok. I’m glad your dog is friendly. That’s nice for you. My dogs aren’t friendly, therefore your dog charging up to my dog is a problem. You can consider your dog a member of your family (I do the same), you can call your dog your kid or your baby, but guess what? It’s a dog. Which means if your dog runs up to mine, and mine freak out, yours will too. Because they’re DOGS. I know you love your beasts, I love mine too.

Dogs in the city are generally pretty awesome. They tend to be well trained, and tolerant of sharing “their” space with others. Some are better than others. Mine fall into the “other” category when it comes to dealing with other dogs. They are not going to share the elevator nicely with your dogs, so when I see you on the elevator, I’m not getting on. I do this in the interests of everyone’s peace and safety. Trust me, they’re mine, I know them. So stop holding the fucking “open” button on the doors, trying to convince me to get on with them when you see them freaking out, and there’s an elderly woman cringing in the corner behind her shopping cart. It’s ok, they are my responsibility so I can wait for the next elevator.

Big Senile Dog won’t bark at another dog across the street or down the block, but he doesn’t want to pass right next to another. For the love of all that’s holy, you people with ultra friendly pups, when you see someone else walking a dog who is clearly bobbing and weaving to avoid run-ins with others, don’t wait for them, or follow them so the dogs can say hello and “make friends.” Sorry, my dog doesn’t want to make friends. He wants you and your dog to get the fuck away from him. I do my part, you do yours, please. Go to the dog run. Really. If Cesar Millan is with you, fine. Otherwise, let me move away.

Having a dog in the city is wonderful, but it’s tricky. You do have to make sure the dog gets enough exercise, and you have to be aware of the many dangers. Cars, bikes, poison, rats, the list goes on. I’m sure there are equivalent dangers in the suburbs and in rural areas. But somehow, we seem to have this privileged subset of dog owners who don’t think these dangers could ever, possibly apply to their beloved Rover.

Bucket-headed dog (Photo credit: Paul Kidd)

I’m always in awe of the sheer stupidity of some people. Truly, the vast majority of city dog owners are great, caring, and responsible. Their pets are well cared for, groomed, exercised, loved. But then you have the few who think all the dog needs to be happy and healthy is unconditional smooshies and freedom. There are leash laws for a reason. The reason is to PROTECT YOUR DOG as much if not more than anything else. You think your dog will always listen to you no matter what. Mmm hmm. These are the siblings of My-Kid-Would-Never, and their names are My-Dog-Would-Never. Yes, they will. Given the right/wrong circumstances, your dog will indeed get into a fight with another dog, scare a child, run into the street and become urban road kill. I have seen this more times than I can tell you, and it inevitably ends with the dog owner sobbing because they “don’t know what happened, Mitzi has never run into the street before.” I know what happened, Mitzi is a fucking dog and you treated her like a child old enough for higher order thinking! **I am excluding

professionally trained service dogs from this, because they truly are amazing**

Now here come the cousins to My-Dog-Would-Never-and-Doesn’t-Need-a-Leash, My-Dog-Would-Never-So-I-Let-Him-Have-All-25-feet-of-the-Retractable-Leash. Can I slap you now? The freakin dog might as well be off the damned lead! Large or small, if that dog runs into the street when a car is coming and the car doesn’t see him, that’s the end of the dog. If you’ve got a little dog who startles another, larger, unfriendly dog, your dog is getting his butt kicked before you can get him in your arms.

City Dogs Are Friends (Photo credit: ilovemypit)

If you’ve got a big dog at the end of that lead and they take off after a juicy rat, odds are excellent that you will either let go of the lead, get your wrist/arm broken trying to hold her back, or at the very least, you’ll end up on the ground. It’s science (physics?), a big dog with four on the floor with 15-25 feet of running lead has a lot more traction than you do. Hell, a 50 pound dog with four on the floor has more traction than many.

There are options for people with friendly, well trained dogs to be off leash and romp with other dogs. There are dog runs throughout the city, and dogs can be off-leash in Central Park from dawn until 9am, and from 9pm until park closing. By the way, just because you can let them off leash doesn’t mean you should. If your dog is not friendly or well trained, those ordinances won’t magically make your dog friendly and obedient.

This has been a public service announcement from Mrs Fringe.

Polski: trufla nosowa psa (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Is the Boogeyman Getting Bigger?

Return of the Boogeyman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s a funny thing. I find as I get older, certain things that used to bother me, don’t. You really do reach a level of understanding, this too shall pass. In other ways, though, those fears take hold and get more firmly rooted. Like, say, fear of the unknown.

I’m at a point where I’m ready to make changes. Not quite sure about what they’ll encompass, but I’m ready. Except, what about that other old adage? You know the one, “the devil you know…”

Fatigue and I were talking about fears the other evening. Not wanting to live our lives dictated by fear. We were talking about our young adulthood, before we knew each other. I realized I used to be brave. Ok, maybe not brave, but braver than I am now. I took chances. Some worked out, some not so much. Yanno, life. It’s a lot harder to take those risks when the fallout of a miscalculated risk involves more than me and a cat. Yes, once upon a time, Mrs Fringe had a cat.

I dream about moving to “the country.” What if we did it? Would it be an easier life, living somewhere the budget would stretch farther? I have blissful visions of a kitchen where I can’t touch both walls while standing in the middle. A dishwasher. Not living with people literally on top and below me. Privacy! A garden. A spot to let the beasts out so I don’t have to always walk them no matter what at least three times a day.

There’s nowhere we could go where our money will magically stretch for a fantastic area, HGTV worthy house, or a house on the beach. A lot of factors have to be weighed in. Cost of living, school system, special ed services, doctors/hospitals, work, somewhat reasonable distance to get to Mother In Law. Let’s not forget political factors. Not every area would be happy to welcome us. I don’t need to be somewhere where everyone has the same political beliefs, but I also don’t want to be somewhere I’d be afraid to state my beliefs, know what I mean? And Husband, who would be very happy if I would forget all about this fantasy and continue to trip over each other in the apartment, choke on the budget, and keep waving as I trudge out with the dogs to walk them for the eleventy billionth time.

If I keep huffing and puffing and moaning, and swear it will all be fabulous and I will wake up and skip through the daisies every day, maybe we’ll go. Eventually. But that isn’t how I want to walk into a big change. My crystal ball is looking a little milky these days. I don’t know if this type of move would work out. If we’d end up in the perfect area, if it would provide enough stress and financial relief to enjoy those daisies. We all face decisions, we all try to stack the odds in our favor. But at the end of the day, big decisions are a leap of faith. A calculated risk, but a risk nonetheless.

None of this obsessing is getting me any closer to the revisions I should be working on.

For the moment, I’ll continue to watch the real estate porn on HGTV while I wonder if I’m being ruled by my fears or being practical. Sensible. Oh gawd, am I supposed to toss my stilettos and buy orthopedic lace-ups now?

And in the meantime, Flower Child and I keep watching our little seeds sprout, pretending we’ve got a real garden. And I trimmed and bathed Little Incredibly Dumb Dog. Productivity, sorta.

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First Draft Purgatory

End of the road (Photo credit: benuski)

Today I finished the first draft of my WIP. I would happy dance, but I’m too drained. I feel like I’ve been wrung out and run over by a truck. Wouldn’t be so bad if you would be so kind as to hold off on throwing it in reverse and running me down again.

It’s been too long since I’ve done this. Funny, I remember it feeling…different, when I’ve completed first drafts before. More yippee! and less holy shit, I’m going to spend forever in revisions! Forcing myself to push through and keep writing until I had a complete draft was a good thing, but it leaves me looking at a lot more work that *needs* to be done.

For every manuscript, I have a corresponding composition book. This is where I first begin notes; character sketches, motivation, plot lines, rough outline, and a quick sentence or two for every scene as I go along. It’s also where I write down ideas I want to revisit, possible plot holes, thoughts for details to enhance Chapter 6 when I’m already in Chapter 14. So going back to edit and revise, not a new concept. I’ve got plenty of notes, ideas, and questions to address. But I’m going to have to look very carefully at my female main character in the second half of the manuscript.

Tragic (Photo credit: Tanya Dawn)

There’s a scene at the end where she’s wondering if she’s about to get dumped, and as I was writing it, part of me was thinking, “Yes! For the love of God, dump her! She’s a great big yawn.” I’m no expert, but that isn’t a good sign. I’m definitely going to have to look at what happened to her in that second half.

For the next few days, though, I’m not even going to open the file. Maybe I’ll rest. Or give Little Incredibly Dumb Dog a bath. Then I should be able to start catching up with the blogging friends on my blog roll. Soon enough, I’ll be out of Purgatory and into Revision Hell.

El Purgatorio (1890). Óleo sobre tela 339 x 256 cm. GAN.Cararas – Venezuela. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mrs Fringe Has Cooties

Not exactly me, but my tank.

This morning I woke up determined to be productive. I would write. I would give Little Incredibly Dumb Dog a haircut and bath! I would clean the kitchen and make dinner. I wrote. In the scene I worked on, there was a little tank talk. Which made me look over at my poor, neglected little tank. Really neglected. As in, I don’t quite remember the last time I cleaned the viewing panels, or did a water change. Bad Mama.

Today became Spring Cleaning, Part I. I hear some people wash their windows when they’re Spring Cleaning. Pfft. I’m a reefer. Tank maintenance, it is. First I unplugged everything and took out the pumps.

Pump 1, soaking in a vinegar bath. A toothbrush is one of my favorite tank tools.

A bit of coralline algae on the directional head of a pump. This is a good, wanted encrusting algae. Comes in lovely shades of purple, red, green, pink, and white.

Husband drove me to the store, so I could pick up premixed saltwater and some Chemipure Elite. Read the label, it cures everything. I think the EPA should invest in some for the next time there’s an oil spill. Basically, it’s a mix of charcoal and ferric oxide, to lower nutrient levels, phosphates, silica, and other bad things you don’t want measurable amounts of in your tank. Because if you have too much of these, you get cooties.

Look through the forest of green hair algae, and you’ll see a patch of red slime algae covering the middle rock. Red slime isn’t really an algae at all, it’s cyanobacteria.

Next, time to begin the long and tedious process of scraping algae from the viewing panels. Coralline algae is beneficial to the overall health of the tank, but not when there’s so much you can’t see through the glass/acrylic. Toothbrush to the rescue again, along with an old credit card for scraping without scratching the acrylic. I’ll be honest, I didn’t get it all clean, plenty of patches of algae still around, but it’s much better.

Some sheets of cyano were covering the remnants of a zoanthid colony, I think some of them will recover. Pretties! To my shock, my mini carpet anemone is still alive. Unfortunately, it’s rolled itself into a ball, and wedged itself between two rocks in a way that I couldn’t get to it without shredding my hands. Maybe it will come out now.

Another pest uncovered today

Vermatid snail tubes (if you look close, you can also see a tiny feather duster to the left of the tubes)

I’ve now got about a gajillion vermatid snails and their tubes all over the tank. All over the rocks, growing from the sand bed, I even scraped tubes off of the pumps. By themselves, they aren’t specifically harmful. They aren’t poisonous, and don’t bite. But those little tubes are sharp as hell, making it hard to work in the tank, and they cast fine threads out of the tubes to catch whatever bits they can to eat. When there are so many of them, those little webs and threads irritate the corals.

After scraping and stirring everything up, I changed out about four gallons of water, a little less than half of the total water volume of the tank. Threw the chemipure and a couple of pieces of poly-filter into the back chambers of the tank. The sexy shrimp were the first critters to venture out. Couldn’t get a shot of them, they’re too jumpy today. Found a new yellow sponge growing along the bottom of one of my rocks. I’m going to keep an eye on it, I had one pop up like that in my last tank, it smothered a delicate coral. Then the wrasse came out of hiding.

I left to go walk a dog, then came home and walked my dogs. Shut the pumps again and threw a little food in the tank. The pom pom crab ventured out.

I stink. Literally. I smell like a blend of vinegar, low tide. and dead snail. My back hurts from lifting and carrying water. My hands feel a bit chewed up from all the scrapes of the vermatid snail tubes. Looking into the tank, I can now see how much work still needs to be down, and all the coral losses from these last several months of neglect. Somehow, though, I feel excellent. If I can get my back to loosen up, I’ll even make dinner.

Hear That?

It’s the sound of Mrs Fringe having a quiet day.

Black Sand Beach, Maui (Photo credit: szeke)

In my mind, the scene above is where I am today. And man, do I need it. This neverending winter has felt torturous.

But, Spring Break started for Flower Child at 2:35 yesterday afternoon, and Nerd Child is home for another week, so it counts as Spring Break for me, too. In the spirit of the day, Big Senile Dog decided to start us off right by peeing all over the apartment last night. In case you were wondering, I don’t call him Senile for no reason. Occasionally, these days, he forgets the protocol for when and how to void his bladder. He isn’t the biggest dog, but he is sizable, and has a bladder appropriate for an elephant.

A busy week this week. I did a fair amount of work on the WIP, submitted eek!!! two short stories, picked up a mountain’s worth of dog poop, all the usual Mama stuff, and had a conversation with the puzzle doctor without crying, pretended I’m moving to New Hampshire and saw some fabulous real estate porn, managed to keep my brain inside my skull despite the ongoing jackhammering on my corner. Great success. To reward myself, I made an extra pot of French Press this morning, and spent the last two hours reading.

Reading (Photo credit: – Annetta -)

Just reading. No research, no Facebooking, no crushing myself with literature I’ll never measure up to, just a nice read. What else would one do lying on an empty beach?

At some point this week, I read about Michelle Shocked’s rant in California. I liked her back in the day. Didn’t love her, but I had a couple of cassettes with her music. I wasn’t shocked that she’s now found religion, and embraced a different outlook along with it–to put it mildly. She isn’t the first, won’t be the last. There’s a difference though, between someone who changes their views, actions, or even their beliefs, with age, time, and their personal experiences and someone who can’t commit to who they are now or admit who they were way back when. It made me wonder, who are/where are the young women we can look at and admire now? Odd, isn’t it, the things that can trigger sadness for lost youth, commitment, and passion?

Gawd, I’m maudlin today.

Imma go put some Patti Smith on the iPod. I would dance along, but I’m afraid to get Big Senile Dog excited, since I’ve only got three paper towels left.

Thank you, Walt

This photo depicts Walter Elias Disney’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Ok, I admit it. I was a tad overambitious when mapping out my writing plan for the weekend. A three day weekend! While I am getting back in the habit, and I’m pleased with the progress I’m making, I don’t have the stamina I once did. A really good writing day leaves me fried the following day. So…I didn’t get a whole lot of words down yesterday. I did, however, hammer out some plot points that had been nagging at me, so that counts as something. And I made enough dinner to have leftovers for tonight.

That means the only chore that had to get done today was making the week’s gumbo for the dogs. No, no, don’t look over at the laundry pile. All the stars aligned, I had the breakfast in the house that Flower Child actually wanted to eat, and plenty of milk for coffee. And then, when I sat down to write, and Flower Child wilted, exhausted from being awake for 30 minutes, we found Mary Poppins was playing on the Disney channel. After Mary Poppins came Lady and the Tramp, and after Lady and the Tramp came Hercules, and after Hercules came Alice in Wonderland, and now Aladdin is on. Hear that? It’s the blissful sigh of a productive writing day, gumbo made and cooling, the girl happily snuggled on the couch with Little Incredibly Dumb Dog watching movies, Big Senile Dog snoring to provide the background music.

I’m a Disney fan. Not politically correct, but true. I like most of their movies, and have truly happy memories of vacations at Disney World with Husband and the fringelings when they were younger and we had enough money to take a vacation every other year. Sure, there’s also the memory of having to go to the first aid station with Nerd Child when he was an infant, and one of Husband’s chest hairs got wrapped around his eyeball in a way that required medical attention. I think that was the same stay when I got heat stroke our first day there, between 8000% humidity and nursing. But the next morning, I was on Dumbo with Man Child, what could be bad?

I’d like to think I’ll be able to write a little more after Flower Child goes to bed, but I doubt it. On the other hand, I’ve got an overwhelming urge to listen to Grace Slick. Any day that ends with Jefferson Airplane is a good one.

Purple Prose and Heroes

Front cover of True Life Romance #3 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A fine morning here in Fringeland. I did the mama thing, then came home to take a fresh look at the story I finished yesterday. I have to tell ya, I’m not being hard on myself, there’s some major suckage in there. I corrected some glaring instant-humiliation-if-I-drop-dead-and-someone-goes-into-my-Word-files mistakes, and then closed the file. I realized two very important things. One, I meant what I’ve been saying. It’s just fine to have written a crappy story, it was an exercise in forcing myself to write again, and write fresh. I’m shocking myself with how true that feels–especially since I also spent some time lurking on the writers’ forum, reading a thread about the best short stories ever written. Two, low sodium Wheat Thins taste like crap.

I then opened the file of the romance I started a while back. I’m not sure I remembered I had three completed chapters. And you know what? I like it. And I was able to get right back into my heroine’s head. I always forget how much fun it can be to read or write a light romance. And I think this is exactly where I should be right now. So, how come I’m not writing at the moment? Oh, that pesky life thing. I have a dog to walk in an hour, and then I have to pick up Flower Child an hour after that. I’m also hoping the jackhammering going on across the street will be finished for the day by the time I sit down. With a little luck and a lot of self discipline I’ll be able to block everyone and everything out later this afternoon. I need to do a little more outlining before going further with the story.

I know some can just pick up their pencils, or open their files, and write whenever they’ve got a spare 20 or 30 minutes. I’m not that disciplined, and need at least a two hour block of time. Trust me, it isn’t a wri-tah thing for me, I can’t get into the right head to exercise either if I’ve only got 20 minutes.

In case anyone was wondering, Little Incredibly Dumb Dog is still filthy, and Big Senile Dog is back to counter surfing. He drank Husband’s coffee yesterday, and I had to drag both of them away from a smooshed rat when giving them a walk this morning. I wonder why no one writes a cookbook for roadkills of the city?