Left Finger Up

This entry may be fraught with mistakes because I have my left pointer finger bandadged up. So. What Spellcheck doesn't catch, we're stuck with.

Typing with a disconfibulated diget is interesting. The affected digit is wrapped so stoically as to preclude any movement other than that which avails concentration up front.

At this point, there is nothing stellar to report : I have fed the coon and the possum, petted both and assured the coon that there is no interstellar plot for his demise; Took digital pix of him with my big toe decorated in latex and hollogtraphic dit shit; Let the cat out of doors so she can pretend to be offended at having her environs encroached upon by wild guys.

I've watched the coon and the possom dining on oposite ends of the pile of Special Kitty 100% complete formula with crab, lobster, tuna, chicken and goose. One wonders how the manufacturers managed to get the various denizens to hold still for the coup de gras and flavors.

I did not go to Martha's today to photograph more flotsam and jetsam left from the years of Deepwater Trading Company and The Blue Goddess. I am selling fabric and trims off. I need to be rid of the heavy weight of years of detritus that mark me as seamstress, costumer. Hell. Sell it all to the walls!! I have items here that would turn a collector pea green with envy! My back is screwed up. Martha told me to try Alleve. I did. It worked. Moreso than the heavy duty Darvocet I'm proscribed for pain.

Laces. Silks. Period fabrics and trims. All of them are going on my eBay account. I'm running across old costume pieces packed up in boxes. Trims to make a period piece stand up and roar! All of them need to go. I want my home to be bare to the walls as it was when I moved in here in 1989. It has to be.

There can be now new bathroom or kitchen, no central air, no deck, no patio, no glass that hasn't seen the sag of 100 years.

Pray for me.