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Thursday, June 28, 2007

My bathroom said to thank you. I sprinted home to clean it because if it wasn't raining, you would need to change so we could ride. The Slob's Priority List says remove cobwebs and evidence of infestation... then scrub porcelain. THen dirty dishes and clothing from public places. So now the toilet has been scrubbed, and there are no spiders living between it and the sink, and laundry happened with shocking efficiency. Sorry, arachnids.
By the time the backhoe had cleared a path, the skies had established that whilst they had held the rains back from 5:00- 5:30for most of my commute home, they must needs ooze further, despite my proclaimed desire to ride with you.
I was sort of almost inspired by then, though, and even swept the cruddiest dust hares from behind a few doors, stuffed the wild metal objects into the closet and managed to close the door, and opened that Budweiser... and celebrated that, in fact, I had a reason to clean my toilet but that, in fact, nobody was going to see the other 98 layers of crud. Oscar Madison has not been exorcised... but I may get him sent to his room by the end of the weekend.
Then I hopped on the Gazelle to head over here... but the Gazelle said, "I hve no lights and you will want to ride extra on the way home!" So I went back and switched for the Xtra. It didn't say a word. It just turned South and kept going. It stopped raining. The grey skies were alive in layers and texture; the corn was singing its praises and filling its lil' cell walls with turgidity. For a moment I almost understood how visual art could communicate to the soul. Grey speaks a rich and vivid language!
Blue skies are overrated.

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