The sky outside my window isn’t really cloudy, and isn’t really hazy. It’s sort of murky, as if it might possibly consider raining but would likely rather not, if it’s all the same to me.
The air, when I stepped outside earlier to make sure Miss Cleo didn’t crash through the spider’s web, was thick and present in a way air really shouldn’t be. Alive, but ominous.
My head, too, feels a bit murky, as if I can’t quite focus, but instead stir up random thoughts:
– We have tickets to the midnight show of Harry Potter, though not at the IMAX theater because it was sold out.
– My hair dye came yesterday. As the manufacturer was out of my usual Atomic Pink, I had to switch colors. Virgin Rose and Cupcake Pink. Couldn’t you just die from sweetness?
– Cleo is still being destructive. I play with her, I walk her, I tell her we’ll be back, and yet she seems determined to rid the house of all carpet one square foot at a time. My dogs have never been crated, but we’re thinking we may have to, as even the bathroom allows access to the edge of a carpet. Alternatively, we could drug her whenever we leave the house. Neither plan is really my favorite.
– I have stories I want to tell, and no focus to tell them.
Here’s hoping the rest of you are having murk-free days.
Murky by Melissa Bartell is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.