I understand the definition of "dichotomy" now.

Last night, the Roomstress was gone and I had the loft all to myself. I went to the grocery store to get food for the week, but also to get something to make for myself for supper for the evening. Then - the thought: I can make whatever IIIII want. And I'll be the only one to eat it. And having the palate of a nine-year-old, I went to my favorite standby meal that the Ex-Mr. hated and that to this day I still love so I never made often: buttered noodles. YES BUTTERED NOODLES. I make them grownup food by adding broccoli and tomatoes and garlic salt. But buttered noodles is where it is AT.

After the grocery store, I went home and made my buttered noodles and was somewhat giddily happy about having an evening to myself (psst. this is the important part to remember). I could watch whatever trash on TV I wanted. I was singing out loud terribly. I had big plans for a night with James Bond. It was certainly something to look forward to. In the course of the evening I slipped into my bathroom to powder my nose, and had my weekly HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE HELL moment.

good lord. this is ridiculous.

So naturally, I stopped for a photo op, called the office, (I now have to use the Roomstress's shower until they can rip mine out and put it back in properly LOVE YOU, R), texted everyone I knew within a one mile radius about the mushroom, and then continued about my evening, scripting this week's blog post. Ha. Little did I know.

As I finished making supper, I went to get a glass of water and went ouch. Was that glass? Foot up, see nothing, step down and OUCH. The glass I broke with a hoop weeks ago strikes again. And I just sank that sliver into my foot up to the hilt.

I stopped what I was doing and hobbled over to the windows where the best light comes in and began working on getting the glass out. After an ineffective ten minutes, I hobbled over and got a pair of tweezers I keep in the living room (don't ask). After another ineffective ten minutes, I hobbled into my bathroom and got the "good" tweezers, a bottle of alcohol and a cotton ball. And after another another ineffective ten minutes I realized all I was doing was hitting the piece of glass with the tweezers and jumping from the twinge before I could get a grip and pull it out. So I gave up. And decided to patiently wait for someone who lived within a one mile radius to text me back about my mushroom so I could beg them to come over and perform surgery.

I got my now-cold plate of buttered noodles, microwaved it, and hobbled to the couch and ate supper while watching James Bond with a throbbing foot. And I thought: Gee. I sure wish someone was here to dig this piece of glass out of my foot.

YES UNIVERSE YOU ARE A WICKED SORCERESS AND YOU KNOW ABOUT IRONY AND THAT STUPID STUFF. I GET IT AND I HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR.

Deciding to spend the night alone on the couch and being forced to sit still for an evening are two different animals. This happened. On more than one occasion.

that's my sash on my head. yup, i'm bored.

After a couple of hours, text from the Roomstress came in re: mushroom. And I was all hahahhahahaa mushroom so what time are you home? NO BIGS. And texts and emails starting coming in from folks - at meetings, across town, in another town, in another state - but finally, FINALLY, a neighbor showed up with beer, wine and wielded a needled like a mother fucker while I cowered with my face in my hands and my foot backwards up on top of the kitchen island. I need to clean that now, by the way.

In any event, there's What the Hell Wednesday. Sharon pointed out that maybe I shouldn't post today in recognition of 9/11 but I told her what my grandmother always told me when I asked her about WWII: that war took enough of my life and I'm not giving it one more minute. So, no. Those evil men don't get anymore of my tears, time or attention. But those tragic victims do. I knew no one in those towers or no one who died trying to save them. But to say my heart breaks for those left behind is a shadow compared to how heartsick those thoughts make me when I think them. Instead, I'mma leave you with words from the Dipper about how he chooses to remember those taken too soon.

Over and OUT!