We got back last night from our Dutch holiday (lovely, but lovelier to be home – I’ve never had a house I enjoyed being in so much). This morning we retrieved my computer and I spent entirely too much time catching up on one blog (it’ll be one blog per day until I’m all caught up, because y’all! You wrote a lot while I was gone!) and thinking I really should get off my butt and unpack and get onto the day’s housework (Tuesday: laundry = towels, non-white sheets and cloth napkins; zone = kitchen and dining room) when DrBob landed me with a 24-page article to proofread. Bam, there went the rest of my day. This stuff does my head right in, it’s a comparison of two 17th-century re-writings of one of Ovid’s tales (Echo and Narcissus, from Metamorphoses III), and as always, DrBob draws heavily on Lacan’s writings for his analysis, and Lacan makes my brain melt. So that’s why I have not much to write about today: because my brain is melted.
So I’m done, and I’d go watch TV or something, but Fufu is camped out on my lap, and of course after a week away, it’s my duty to humor the cats. This is proving difficult, because Fufu has some seriously stanky breath. It’s like dog-breath, ick. It can’t be her diet, or me being fussy about a normal property of cats, because Lilu’s breath is just ordinary cat-bad. Fufu’s is in another dimension entirely. Maybe I should ask the vet about this.
Song du jour of the day: Smelly Cat, by Phoebe Buffay.
Oh, and before I forget, Happy Birthday Bro! Welcome to your Late Thirties! It’s wrinkly up here.