The babies smell of mouse holes

The more I think of babies smelling of mouse holes, the funnier it gets.

Okay, seriously, I have a dilemma. Even if I’m currently braindead, do I write some stupidass blog entry just to stay in contact with you all because I’m completely addicted to you and just may wither up and die if I don’t?

When I first started blogging, one of my aims was to make friends (see: gather minions), but it was more just to write. To journal, actually - I was writing to myself and hoping others would care enough to listen. It’s still that to some degree, but now that I’ve made unbelievable friends through it, I think of it more as, say, a place where I can curl up on the couch with you, knees touching, sipping coffee in the morning or wine at night, and just talk. I don’t need to journal anymore, strangely. I rarely do. I discovered I just like writing letters. Write write write der letters, all day long, like some kinda correspondencin’ foo. It makes me happy.

I was going to start this morning by telling you that, because I feel it’s important for a person to work hard at their own individual evolution, I’ve changed from yogurt mixed with grapenuts for breakfast to frosted mini-wheats in 1 percent milk. But then I thought, that’s just stupid. I love you guys. You have no idea how much. xo