A CHUNK OF KIWI

Oh my gosh I just got a REAL CHUNK OF KIWI in my strawberry kiwi yogurt.

See that thought? That thought, right there? THAT's what my mind has been like today.

Last night, my mom called. It went something like this:

Me: mrphrpghb?

Mom: something something something something LAMP something something

Me: yeah. yeah. yeah. mrphrppbhb? yeah.

Mom: are you alright?

Me: something something muscle relaxer narcotic something.

Then John took the phone away. This week has been defined by three pill bottles: Harry, Moe, and Curly, or Moe, Curly, LARRY, that's it. An anti-inflam, as I call it, a muscle relaxer which puts me to sleep, and a narcotic pain killer that REALLY puts me to sleep. And my old trusty heating pad which I have memories of dating back to the mid-eighties. I see your muscle spasms in your lower back and raise you a husband who's having knee surgery tomorrow.

But reality checks aren't easy to come by when you drive into town and see - or think you see - these:

You may be snorting soup out of your nose asking "what in the name of Guantanamo Bay ARE those?" They are, in fact, an attempt on some town leader's part to make our small city look - and I quote - "more Victorian." MORE VICTORIAN??

You can see by their size that these wooden, painted, creepy clown-like faces are not life-sized. No, that's why that wooden man looks like he's about to get squooshed to death by hanging baskets of wave petunias and vinca vine.

Not only that: they were commissioned. Commissioned. The really scary ones are the ones reflecting the maker's optimistic attempt at diversity - they look like a lawsuit waiting to happen. And some have artful props, like the lady with flowers above, or the "mailman" down by the bank with a "real" mailbag. He's across the street from an obscurely ethnic figure. I think she's supposed to be African American. She's not as obscure as the wooden man down by Subway, though - I've heard guesses ranging from Martin Luther King, Jr., to Saddam Hussein.

They're so bad I hesitate to even put them UP on this site, guilty for inflicting their presence on the rest of the world that didn't have to see them. You didn't HAVE to wake up this morning and eventually see these during your day.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just couldn't bear the pain alone any longer.

This is me on the way to Louisville Saturday to meet John's sister and bro-in-law for lunch and then to visit Great Aunt Nelda in the hospital. Sometimes in the car I get bored and take pictures of myself. But I was feeling funky that day anyway. I had green shoes on that weren't the same shade as the necklace, and bobby-pinned my ponytail in weird spirals coming out of the back of my head. I was on muscle relaxers that day, too.

This is Todd and Becky and John and Me at Bearno's pizza in Louisville. That's a spicy a meataballa! Anyway, it was good and hey, I'm wearing that jacket today, too. My boss keeps the office cold enough that if someone shoots a bear and needs a place to store it, they can put it by the copy machine for a few days and it'll be good.

OH. And get this. The cleaning lady threw away my art. THREW IT away. What do I have to do around here, label things, like hey, lady, that's my paper plate blueberry juice art you have in your hand there. Geesh. You can't trust ANYbody these days.