I should be “on a mission from anti-clutter” and I intended to adopt that boot camp lifestyle for a week or so. I wouldn’t say I am having second thoughts; it is more as if my thoughts were the only part of me that had any gumption. I am sitting, on a sofa. I have tried various pep talks and a Lou Holtz, I’m not.

I have benched myself, or more accurately, sofa-ed myself. It’s sad; a week ago I watched “Hoosiers” while working in the basement. Where IS my spunk?

I got some Chewnola bones for Shane as a treat and then I strolled over to the food section, passing the outskirts of the toy section on my way. I heard something; I hadn’t touched anything, anything at all. And then I looked over to my side:

Maybe Shane would prefer one of these guys over a Chewnola bone.

This morning. This morning just before school. This morning just before school, someone could not find her glasses and panicked – as in screaming at the world. You cannot get a panicked screamer to retrace her steps in her mind. Her mother found them after 45 minutes of searching in a room where someone had claimed she had not gone.

The living room sofa is still turned over, because we just have to calm ourselves. Lordy! I am waiting for reality show people to call and ask if we’d be interested in being the topic of a show.

My father was born on November 12, 1918 – the day after the First World War Armistice – and got his middle name Pershing from General Pershing, leader of the American Expedition Forces that war. He died in February, 2000. He has been dead for 13 years, going on 14. It does not seem possible, then again, it does not seem possible he would have been 95 today, but that’s what it comes down to – 95.

This November 12th, it is 23 degrees outside right now. I popped out into the back vestibule to grab a “wake-up” caffeine-infused diet cola and did notice it was “brisk.” I also noticed that I need to replace the insulation around the door that goes to the garage – it’s right by the door that goes to the vestibule. The cold air might have aided the caffeine, but the thought of fooling around with coiling rubber gasket-like rope and attaching it to a door made me decide I needed to fortify my spirit with some time under a warm afghan . . . just ’til I get my mind ready for the task, dontcha know. Although I could just ask a bunch of Raggedy Anns to stand one atop another right there by the crack where the door meets the jamb*.

No . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea and I probably should just delete that bit, but then, again, their reprisals might make the day interesting. Sort of like Cato and Clouseau.

I’m so proud of the fact I refused to lower myself to make a pun about being “in a jam” because of that idea. Oh, I guess I blew it.

So, okay I wasn’t talked to death Saturday and I made it through Sunday and today I found out I have no evidence of a urinary tract infection.

DOUBLE WOO-HOO

Everyone likes my new haircut and someone even told me I looked like Diane Keaton. I want to thank Donna of Scizzor Worx in Kendallville.

Better calm down before I Woo-Hoo myself to death.

I may not be here tomorrow. If someone can be talked to death, look for my obituary. It is so ironic, that I am writing this.

Ah, yes, do you remember the lady who knitted scarves for me? No, well, it was Sue, Jody’s mother, and there was an article in the paper about her participation in a special group. So far, just the one picture is in the article, but I am betting more will show up on somebody’s site.

I feel comforted knowing I have an “in” with someone who can help me disappear if need be. I will just wrap my scarves around me and stand in downtown Iowa City.

It is possible I should have made my subject matter known earlier in this post, but, gosh, I’ve gotten too lazy to cut and paste. But HERE is the article and here is the picture that accompanied it.

I had a urine test today and it showed no bacteria . . . but they are sending it off to be cultured.