This Daylight Savings Time change is not a joke. My body seems to have a nasty reaction to getting up before the Sun. So much so that it is still refusing to look (or act) alert. All the water, chiropractic and coffee later, and I am still thinking I need just one more hour of sleep. Oh well, it'll forget soon enough.
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Do I want to see Cyndi Lauper live? For nostalgia sake? For the Human Rights Campaign? For the simple reason that anyone who is bold enough to make a song about female masterbation should be celebrated?
I say yes to all those things. But do I really want to go see Cyndi Lauper live?
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Since it rained all day Thursday and snowed all night, I chose to skip the trails and ride my bike around White Rock Lake. It's a pretty place to be on a cold Saturday morning. And the people out there are the ones who know that colder is better if you're going all that way.
I do not remember being cold. Or warm. I just remember it being a brilliant day to ride. And that the trash on the West side of the lake was embarassing. And that I had to work pretty hard on those mt. bike tires to pass and stay ahead of Mark.
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My dad is home. He had to be in the hospital for four days last week because of the blood thinning medication. Sometimes the treatment is worse than the disease. What started as a routine colonoscopy on a 73 year old man turned into a week of intensive cardiac care and lots of phone calls to my resourceless mother who alternates between medical aloofness and childish need. The conversations are painful and I don't know what to say. But they have to be had. So anyway, Dad is home, bleeding under control -- and Eddie is happy he's there. Mom, I don't quite know. I was so tired when they called yesterday, I only remember that I talked to her because Dad told me I had to.
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Sometimes it takes an almost comical set of twists and turns to get something done. I'm just saying: it would be easier to be a cat.
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