Friday, July 23, 2004

I bought my ticket today.

Leaving on August 15. Not coming back until September 4. And flying alone.


Thursday, July 22, 2004

My daughter and I ended this day by walking around in a park. She would hold onto my thumbs, and I would slowly ease them out of her hands, thus leaving her to walk on her own. She realized that after taking a step or two by herself, and fell onto the grass laughing hysterically.

Then we went for pizza. Broccoli for her, anchovies for me.

Sunday, July 18, 2004

Something woke me up in the middle of the night.

No, it wasn't a loud truck. Not the train. Nor a wild party in the neighborhood. Not the smell of something burning. But it was a smell. A foul, pugnant, offensive, overbearing smell.

It was a skunk!

Somewhere in the village, a skunk had sprayed its overbearing liquid. Possibly in defense when fronted with another animal. Or a car.

But as a result, everything smells like a skunk in here now. Including me. Gee, I can just imagine the looks on my fellow biker's faces when I show up for our 50 mile ride this morning. They'll probably leave me in a ditch enroute.

Hello. I will be your skunk for the day.