Rule of 3

Unless I wish to lie awake listening to Western Screech Owls at 3 am, I will never, never ever again drink venti soy cafe mochas - iced or otherwise - after 3 pm.

Three. Caffeine. No.

That ought to be easy enough to effing memorize.

Rocky III

Rocky, the raccoon who visited me since December (and prior to that visited incognito) is back.

You know, it occurred to me last night, I might be visited by more than one raccoon. Even if that is true, I will continue referring to them all as ‘Rocky’. The little guy I saw last night did not have the swaggering attitude of the last raccoon that had come in, eaten, and was on his way out when I happened to look up and see him. This 'new' raccoon was timid and seemed afraid of me. Its little paw trembled as it stared at me, in an affecting manner. One thing is that all racoons visiting my home do stare at me as I stare at them. The critters seem amazed at the humongous THING, i.e., me, before them. They think I'm the giant guarding a treasure - CAT FOOD - as in some fairy tale.

The cat flap being gone now, this was the first time the raccoon just marched through the open cat door. It was a daring thing for the critter to do; the area in front the fireplace, nearby the French doors is piled high with junk I back-hoed out the rear of the house; a mattress, a steamer trunk, piles of bed sheets, a basket of sewing trimmings. Trust me, timid though he/she may have seemed, a raccoon that walks off a dark patio and into a well lit house that by raccoon standards, reeks of cats and human scent and is full of foreboding piles of stuff is no diminutive and timid little forest critter. Maybe the paw trembling was old Rocky debating if he should just ignore the fat human and continue his investigations.

Progress in Periwinkle

I like to imagine one or two who have read my blog, have forgiven me on the kitty abandonment issue. I thank you for your compassion and will now continue nattering on with my little daily revelations, daily concerns and introspective bull.

Am thrilled; took two days off work so I could paint the final frontier otherwise known as my junk room/future bedroom. The room is 50% painted and trimmed.

Late this morning after a painting session I stood in the hallway and came to the shocking conclusion; despite all my efforts at variety, I inadvertently painted the both back bedrooms the same color. Both are periwinkle or blueish lavender. I would have sworn they were different but it would take DNA paint swatches to tell the rooms apart now. The main difference is the new bedroom has pale yellow trim, the guest room trimming is a pale lavender. Boogers.

I've moved all the junk out into the living room in front the fireplace for a M.A.S.H. style junk triage. The big question is how long will the crap sit junking up the front room before I donate/toss the floatsome & jetsome? I'm hoping now the junk is no longer 'out of sight, out of mind' and is hidden in plain sight the clutter - which makes me crazy - will be just the auspicious kick in the arse needed to move me towards a junk-free state. If I am wrong about my motivation to ditch the junk then I suppose I will begin proceedings on obtaining a landfill operator's license. How lucky for me that I work at CalEPA headquarters.