Timing is everything: There's a cricket in my living room right now. Dorian Gray found it first. I don't think it's a particularly bright cricket. My first thought was that it was suicidal, but I think that's a projection from all the writing I've been doing, and I think it's actually got a seriously masochistic streak instead. It hopped all around the living room and is now hibernating in a rolled-up piece of paper that's been stuck behind M1's desk all week. All of Dorian's action, which is odd for him, drew the others in, and now the cats are driving me nuts trying to get at the cricket. I may or may not have chunked a blue highlighter, a red ink pen, and my iPhone cord in their general direction to try to get them to stop without actually A) getting up or B) hurting the cats. I'm running out of painless, lazy options on my end table, though, so eventually I'm going to have to move. Either that or the cricket is going to have to get an actual suicidal streak and come out to be eaten. Which means I'll clean up cricket remains in cat urp later. Decisions, decisions. Mostly I'm just happy for the laugh.
Timing is everything: I woke up with a migraine this morning. I hadn't had one in a long time, over a month, but since my migraines are related to a negative drop in air pressure and we haven't had a good low move through in over a month, and when I woke up this morning it was also drizzly and rainy... it all makes sense. The part that sucked was that I also used up my last migraine fixer last time I had a migraine and hadn't refilled the prescription. Thankfully Oz was here. He also had volunteered to take M1 to his swimming lesson today, so I went to bed, zonked out, woke up, took some Aleve, and then called the doctor and pleaded my case with the nurse. I swing by the pharmacy tomorrow. A Boy Scout I am not.
Timing is everything: I made a pumpkin streusel pie today. Pie. Singular. There were supposed to be two of them. I made two pie crusts. I made a big honkin' recipe of pumpkin pie filling. I filled two pies. I even started cooking them like the recipe said - 15 minutes at 450 - and then took them out to cover the crusts with foil. I went to put the first one back in, and in total slow motion horror movie close-up shot, it tilted. The silicone potholders slipped. And 2/3 of the pie wound up splattered over the inside of the oven door. I stopped. I stared. And I chunked the rest of the pie in the trash can. It's just pie, right? Then I had to work out a way to clean most of the mess off the door so I could continue cooking the other pie. For the record, LOTS and LOTS of paper towels will keep you from burning yourself and will get most of the stuff cleaned up, except for the brownish residue you find later, cooked to the inside of the door like a bad spray tan. The other pie came out beautifully. I want to see the glass half full here.
Timing is everything: I might have committed murder today. It wasn't entirely my fault. The thing DID play dead for two days. It was the last fish in M1's tank, and when a fish spends one day stuck to the back of the filter and one day lying motionless and visible on the bottom of the tank, I tend to think it's dead. It is a fish, after all, and I'm not prone to giving a fish the ol' poke-'n'-prod to make sure it is actually dead and cold and infused with rigor mortis. Since it was the last fish, I told M1 that I would empty out the tank for him while he was at his swimming lesson. I got the siphon. I got the bucket. I started draining the water. I got the tank 3/4 empty when I realized that I hadn't yet removed the fish and that it would be easier to remove if I siphoned it up as opposed to trying to grab it with my bare hands, something my son will happily do right before feeding it to bugs or dissecting it but something I don't find nearly as fun. I aimed the siphon at the fish and watched it schloop up the siphon. Halfway. Then, at the last possible second (I'm trying to work up drama here), the fish jerked around and flew back out the bottom of the siphon and parked itself in the only remaining corner with more than an inch of water. I had to pause for thought before realizing that even if I filled the tank back up and put in a new filter and got the whole thing going again, the whole water cycle was going to be completely out of whack and it was going to actually die anyway, and M1 wasn't home, and nobody would ever know, and HEY! We have chickens!
They appreciated the odd little treat.
If the stupid fish hadn't waited till the very last second, it would still be alive.
Timing is, indeed, everything.