I wrote a post on phone games a couple of days ago, and I usually do not reread my posts – nor do I proofread them on most occasions. I think I will have to change that policy. Egregious is too mild a word to describe the following paragraph:

For all my good intentions, I suspect I will fall off the wagon . . . and be faces with putting all my pieces make in a certain shape. Ah, these is beginning to sound like “The Devil Rum.”
Auuuuugggggghhhhhhhhh.

I will correct it: I should be made to write it 100 times on the blackboard.

For all my good intentions, I suspect I will fall off the wagon . . . and be faces faced with putting all my pieces make back in a certain shape. Ah, these this is beginning to sound like “The Devil Rum.”

There was at least one other typo in the post, but enough with beating a dead horse. I could vow to be more vigilant and responsible, but that would be so unlike me. However, I had better pay a little more attention before I become AmeliaJoke.

Sometimes I get the feeling I need to look closer at the things I see everyday. This is here – at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. Really.

Say, we have more class here at the PBC than we realized. I started thinking about the little bowl I tell people to drop special keys in and, uh, some screw or pill that’s turned up. I went over and picked it up, put my hand over the top so the little flexible flashlight that looks as if it came from War of the Worlds would not fall out and turned it over.

Right there on the bottom is said Lido W.S. George Made in the U.S.A. I looked on eBay and maybe I should start using an old soup can as a catch-all on the window sill.

I was glad to awake this morning; my dreams were punishing. I am in a quiet little phase of my life now as far as doing more than writing one or two words here and there. I suppose I need a muse. Could it be Wanda?

Wanda’s on the right and she is actually purplish – this was one of the first pictures of the box loot so the lighting is primitive den,cloudy skies.

I am writing this on what to you is now yesterday; I just didn’t want to write anything else on Jody’s birthday and, even though, she was the happiest little girl, not even humor. And especially, because it is toilet humor – not scatological, but ceramic.

My grandson lost his balance in the bathroom; he is autistic and has a severe weight problem related to his mental state. He fell against the toilet and broke the tank. He did not break the tank off the toilet; he broke the tank itself, just as if it were a cooking dish.

We got the main water switched off and then the more delicate valve to the tank adjusted; Cameron got on his cell phone at the main valve and I was at the tank valve on my phone. He was prepared to turn the water back on, listen to see if I yelled, “It’s not holding” and react accordingly.

We got things mopped up and because we have other toilets – all upstairs – I decided I could do a little research on this subject. And I have been; you would not expect it to be so confusing. A plumber will be here this morning and we shall see.

My husband has a meeting here; I see palm trees. I think the slots don’t like me. Verizon is slow on this floor of the hotel,so more later.

Gordon Ramsay’s food was delicious. I mean really, really good!

Just before midnight.

Oh, it seemed like a good idea, that choice of a common phrase for a post title. I feel myself shifting this fall in attitude; tickling the back of my consciousness is the Oliver Cromwell command to the Long Parliament: You have sat here too long for any good you are doing . . . In the name of God, go. Well, he said something like that.

Now, I’m not talking about just standing up, letting everything fall where it may. It’s more straightening up and getting things organized and then standing up and taking some steps in a different direction, being certain I have left maps behind for others to use if they want, or to ignore if they do not.

Actually, this is positive . . . and it’s a climb, so it will be slow.

I just looked at a picture of a lady with a lot of short hair; that is to say she sort of looks as if she stuck her head in a bowling ball. It is thick hair, not an afto-type – just a lot of hair nicely cut and tapered around her head. My hair is thin and fine; I guess I would be the 8-ball. On the other hand, when I see this lady, I think of Mars Attacks and I try to catch myself before I visualize the splat. frivolous