You Could Just Leave That One Short

Somehow, I broke three nails last night at the Berkley Front. This means I can't go get a manicure for at least another two weeks because she will cut them all to match . . . and I don't want them that short. (ah, more evidence that I have been reading way too many fashion magazines and they're rotting my brain) It's like they have OCD, with the evenness.

I also think I might be coming down with a cold. Yesterday at the allergist, while getting my shots, I had to say something to the nurse, the usual pleasantries we exchange as she is poking me in the arms and shoving burning liquid into my flesh. But I opened my mouth and nothing came out . . . eventually my voice worked, but it sounded like Phoebe in the episode when she does sexy "Smell Cat". And I couldn't figure out why I didn't know that my voice didn't work . . . I had a conversation with my brother earlier -- why I was busting my ass to get to the allergist, because I had to do something with his family. Until it dawned on me . . . the conversation had been on IM. I haven't tried to talk today. Okay, just did and have a voice.

Maybe it's just that my house is too dry. And too messy . . . have to get on the messy today. Cleaned part of my kitchen yesterday and all of my "delicates". But still have two weeks worth of mail to sort through on the coffee table. There are parts of me that love never being home, but the pile on the coffee table is irritating me. So must be dealt with. And I tore apart a bunch of stuff, looking for my jeweler's saw frame and can't find it. So if you know where it is . . . please let me know because I don't have time to buy another one.

And yes, for those of you who are concerned . . . I had fun. Likes to argue, interesting job, nice truck (as if I care what someone drives) and made me laugh. And I gave him this address. So enough. It will not be spoken of again.