Well, I’ve been to Fairborn and back – including sitting at a dead stop on I-75 after an accident in a construction zone on the way there, and heavy rain on the way back. Do you know people tend to drive very fast in a mob-like formation after a highway is re-0pened. I went with the flow? Do you know that after a series of accidents in a construction zone, the police are out in force on Monday mornings? But I was okay; I went slow and the summer no-snow GPS brought be back to this small town in Indiana over backroads that shortened the trip. However, when you put yourself in GPS hands, you often have the feeling of just stepping off a cliff and assuming there will be an Indiana Jones type invisible bridge beneath your feet.

Well, this is an impulsive bit of a mess. I got irritated the other day and proclaimed to none other than the person who can remember everything you said and does not hesitate to remind you of it . . . and often mock.

I said, “Lose weight? I’ll show you lose weight.” I went off and weighed myself and came back and blurted, “Twenty pounds off by my birthday.” And my face was all scrunched up in that really pissed off, determined look of death that I have been known to sport on occasion. This may turn out to be a real trial – either I eat very little or I eat crow.

I don’t know what the temperature is, but it is humidity. Fortunately, this was not one of my fast walks; this was a posture walk. That doesn’t necessarily mean it was more pleasant, because in a posture walk I pretend a BIG fishhook is going around my breast bone and a line angled upward is pulling me forward. Actually, there is no exterior pull, which is harder to imagine than the fishhook circling my sternum, believe it or not.

My Predator/Reaper hat I inherited from my husband, who is not my late husband, and so I guess I didn’t inherit it, I was given it . . . are you will me still?  . . . Well, that hat got soaked with sweat. I’m going to quit droning on and have some iced tea.

Ah, what a way to start a day, with this message in my email:

Bad luck can strike at any time, be prepared with burial insurance

Several years ago, when realtor.com became a fixture on the internet, I would hop around to various places and look at homes that were really inviting, and, inevitably, way too expensive. I took it in my head tonight to look at some homes that were a little more down home. I found this one with a terrific view, a non-so-good photo of one of the areas, an oddly large bathroom and a storage/garage area that is sort of in keeping with my organizational skills.

Maybe later I will look up cabins in Tennessee.

That dumpster in my driveway is losing its allure, its promise of a de-cluttered abode. It is still here today; it will be here tomorrow and then GONE. But, for these two days I need to be trash-focused, and not the kind you see in tabloids. No, this trash has layers of dust on it, spiderwebs hanging over it and sometimes unknown stuff clinging to it. And, after a little while of dealing with it, I also am accessorized with the above. Gosh, it’s just so much fun.

Well, we did get rid of the “foam-leaking sofa”, probably to Summer’s relief because she could not stand to hear me refer to it as “foam-leaking.” Some teenage thing, I suppose. I have even been IN THE DUMPSTER myself. It isn’t really homey in there, although I guess I could have rested on a bag of foam.

This morning starts a three day spurt of intense dumpster filling. Yesterday, while digging through some boxes of old stuff, I found this little puppy – and I am not using slang here.
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I published this quickly and I am going to ask Summer to make a longer video with perhaps a more energetic song for your viewing/listening pleasure. (Uh, having Summer choose a song may be a shaky decision here.) So far the puppy is unnamed and we are open to suggestions.

I’ve been here in Fairborn since Saturday morning and I am heading back today – but I am waiting for rush hour to clear because it is raining very hard over the very busy exits and entrances and construction barriers on I-75. I don’t know if the rain with be easing up, but I think if I leave at 9 I will be after the commuters and before any people hit the roads heading to malls and wherever they go for solace on a rainy day.

I have on my grungy shoes because of the rain. Looking at my feet propped on the coffee table is not a nice sight, but it is better than bemoaning a nicer pair of shoes turning into giant heavy sponges of squishing water.

I have a task right now – to bound out on the balcony and pull back the potted tree to the relative safety of the corner. Hang on, little guy . . . here I come.

With all the dumpstering and yard work and sorting of stuff, I’m not quite certain of anything.