It starts nibbling at you around track 5: he's building up to something here, but you can't figure out what it is. It doesn't focus until halfway through track 6 of CD 1; probably because you're busy and not really paying much attention to the sonic hints he's giving.

The phrase "Wouldn't it be nice if…" gets me in a lot of trouble.

Courtesy of Heather:

Over the past couple of years, I've really begun to hate commercial radio. Here's why. In honor of my spouse's engineering trade, let's do some numbers.

In a vain attempt to make myself look organized, I thought I'd undertake a three-day cleaning project in my kitchen. Day One would involve the reorganization of my spice collection and the cleaning of the stove and surrounding areas. Day Two would involve the cleaning of the rest of the counters.

(Implied: that I'd clean up, tidy, and put away the various messes that were ON said counters.)Day Three would be the tackling of the kitchen table.

I said I wouldn't write tonight. I kept my promise; by the time this will be posted, it will be morning. That's fair, is it not? (In some fashion?)

I generally don't write here when I'm troubled or upset. Partly because these moods pass, partly because I am ruled by those moods more than I care to admit, and partly because my natural reaction to 'the blues' is to retreat down deep into myself. Down, past verbose explanations and even sillier tears, to my little mental hiding place where no people, no words, can touch me.

What you can't see is that I'm writing this in the dark. I have the mini-blinds open, and outside, I can see the rain sluicing off of our roof and running into the garden. Farther away, I can't see the rain, but I can see the shimmering effect it has on the reflection from the neighbor's streetlight. It's raining hard enough that I can hear it over Jeff's computer; in the master bedroom it is, probably, quite loud indeed.