The picture on the box promises a substance that’s at least translucent, if not refreshing. Guess I’ll be keeping the local tea place in business yet.

Oh, and for the sake of continuity with the previous post, I suppose I should note that I was in fact not eaten by mountain lions, though one did visit our camp in the middle of the night. Seriously. I still don’t understand why some people are so stoked to leave perfectly decent civilization (read: TOILETS) behind and go sleep among the beasts of the wild, abandoning all of humanity’s innovations of the last ten thousand years, save Gore-Tex and strike-anywhere matches. Boggles the mind.

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* I should simply say “thrift”, shouldn’t I, and save the trouble of turning a noun into an adjective and back again. But “thrift” to me connotes “shopping at a thrift store.” So the extra letters can stay, but not without this note to indicate that yes! I am aware!

§ 101.005. GRAMMATICAL ERRORS: PUNCTUATION.
  (a) A grammatical error does not vitiate a law, and when a sentence or clause is without meaning, words and clauses may be transposed to determine the intended meaning.
  (b) The punctuation of a sentence does not control or affect the intention of the legislature in the enactment of this title.

No need to bother learning to write clearly, dear legislators. Just throw in whatever punctuation tickles your fancy, and we’ll divine your true intent. Swirl some tea leaves around or something.

As much as he claims to miss me, though, when I’m home, he doesn’t ever want to snuggle with me. He will ask for and accept belly scratches, but if I’m sitting on the bed, he’ll head for the couch, and vice versa. I guess he just wants me . . . around.

It’s amazing how much I’ve managed to hang on to when ninety percent of what I use on a daily basis is my laptop, some clothes, the furniture, a small fraction of my toiletries, and a few kitchen things. And yet, discounting the furniture, the greater volume of stuff in my apartment falls into the category of things I touch a few times a year, at most. It’s sentimental, archival, seasonal, or used for a specialized purpose, like wrapping paper or sewing tools. Or it’s junk; there’s plenty of that, too.

When I see each tchotchke or scrap of paper individually, I think about what it means to me, what amazing project I’ll use it for in the future, or how I want to show it to my grandchildren. When I see everything like up together, filling boxes and spilling out of bookshelves, I want the throw the whole lot on a bonfire.

In other news, the weather is fantastic here in Houston. I put on a jacket to walk the dog tonight, but only because my shorts didn’t have pockets.

This morning Samson ate some other dog’s poop and threw it up on my carpet. Of all the kinds of vomit, poop vomit is near the top in terms of horrible smelliness.

And now I’m home. Working all day means that, well, not much else happens all day. I’m sure the rest of you have figured this out already. Makes for boring blog posts. Sorry about that.