Sunday, December 22, 2002

I type my entries usually without a lot of thought. I don't go back and check grammar or spelling very much. I'm confident in my abilities. After all, I did attend Festus J. Wannamaker's School of Hair-Cutting and Grammar for almost three months.

But when I use the wrong version of "write" in a post, that bugs me. I said in a post that I was going to "right down a joke."

Yes, sir, I am from a rural county in the south.

I'm home for the holidays. I have a cat that has taken me as her own. She always has. And to be honest, I'm fairly protective of her, too. But when I'm home, she sleeps on me. I sleep on the bed, under the covers. She sleeps on top of me, on top of the covers. Usually up around the shoulder, since I sleep on my side.

The problem is, in the throes of my night terrors (Al Roker, and last night, Grimace, from McDonald's), I thrash about quite a lot. And nothing is worse than waking up from Grimace chasing you and trying to kill you for eating at a Long John Silver's because a cat is digging her little razor claws into your neck for leverage to hold on while you toss and turn. And when you wake up and get mad at the cat, the cat only gets indignant. Will take absolutely no blame on the matter.

Go to and read Arlo and Janis from Sat. December 21.


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