This is what bubbled up out of the cerebral soup this morning. I have been stomping around here, pissed off at Pickle for, well, just being her Pickle self, the one that is always where I want to put my foot next, the one that drags orts from the trash can out onto the back pseudo-lawn where she shreds them to tiny, impossible-to-pick up pieces,the one who drags in flotsam from the garden and deposits it all over the house, the one who now is looking pretty unhappy, scrunched as she is in the corner of the bedroom on the big blue pillow because the cover to the dog stairs is in the wash, and no one can get up onto the bed at the moment. Don't know why I am so irritated. Nothing new happening here, same old, same old. Perhaps it is that my yard is shameful again, due to the fact that I need gas for the mower, and the last time I filled it up, I laid the lid to the gascan down, bad idea, because it disappeared, probably by Pickle express, and I had to go get another gascan, and I haven't been able to figure this one out yet. Challenged on all fronts, frustrated as hell! Fortunately, my friend, the lawnmower queen, is coming over this morning, and she will help me. Not a bad idea, asking for help. So, HELP!
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