I ended up having to do a ton of running around today to get all my errands done. One of my last stops was at the farmer's market. I know, I know, I talk a lot about food. It's a fun subject. But I was browsing through all the things that are available fresh at this time of year, and I was reveling in it. The smells were fabulous—fresh peaches, eggs, okra, blueberries, tomatoes, blackberries, and mounds upon mounds of different kinds of beans.

You know, this social life thing is pretty good for me. Since changing jobs, it seems that we've been hosting visitors at our house about twice a month. It's hectic, and it's difficult to keep the house as clean as I'd like, but I have to admit that it's comforting to know that if I don't show up at work for a few days, there are people in this town that would actually worry enough to call the house and check on me.

Jeff's headed out to see his parents tomorrow. Their computer is acting pretty unstable, so Jeff's going to take his trusty software and know-how and apply the good ol' Wipe And Reinstall tactic on it. I should go out there with him—his folks haven't seen me in a while—but quite frankly, there's so much to do here at the house that if I want any hope of getting a rest break before Sunday, I'll have to stay here tomorrow and get stuff done.

I think perhaps yesterday just wasn't a day to write. Then again, yesterday was just an odd day in general—eight hours' worth of busywork at my company with no real pressing things to get done. I've been trying to work on a logging script so that I can better analyze the hits I'm getting on domesticat, but the script kept bombing out on me. By the time I fled my cube and drove home, I was annoyed, aggravated, and had a pounding headache.Luckily, the spousal unit was preparing dinner. That gave me a chance to take an aspirin, grab the nearest willing cat (last night's volunteer for Onerous Petting Duty was Tenzing—brutal life, isn't it?) and flop on the couch for a while until I was back to my normal goofy, chipper self. The cat was gratified by the petting (there was much shameless purring and tail-thumping), I was gratified by the dinner and the release from my headache, and thus I got a load of laundry done instead of just sitting on my ass all evening.

Funny how you don't realize how much you do around the house on a daily basis until you get sick, don't get to do it, and then try to pick up the pieces afterwards. I think that today we're finally going to get a handle on the mess in the kitchen—it seems like every time we've turned around, the kitchen's been a mess again, and we've never managed to get it thoroughly cleaned up.

I'm thinking that perhaps I've lost what few vestiges of common sense that I had lying around in my malfunctioning little brain. So it's Monday, July 3, and the husband-spousal-unit-person has the day off and I don't. He stayed up a bit late last night washing clothes, because we were bordering on the "if we don't wash clothes tonight we're going naked tomorrow" thing.

Where do I sign up to get George Michael to come over and do a slinky-diva concert in my living room? I gotta know. I was just looking at the cover to Older and marveling at the Armani goodness. Doesn't matter if he's not interested in women; I can handle that; after all, I'm not exactly the kind of person that people drool over. I'm listening to this slithery bit of sonic goodness he recorded for Deon Estus (talk about where-are-they-now material!) and just drooling in general.

Hey, you come here for a prurient look into my twisted little mind—don't bitch if you get TMI.