Should I make another pot of coffee?
When are the children going to burst through the door?
Any second now, I bet. Oh, and an of course, to the coffee.
What's with the celebrity deaths lately? Does the swine flu hit harder, those with an inflated sense of self worth?
Why Are people Twittering on about Aaliyah? Really, and I mean no offense, but the most socially significant thing, that poor little thing did was die too young. And it's been what, 9 years already? It's time to move on from all the death, dear pop addicts, there are still many, many semi-talent pop boys and girls on which you can obsess.
Coffee is brewing.
Curse the cat and its incessant meowing. Its feed, its watered, bugger off.
When is this baby coming? Yesterday was the due date. I am as ready as I will ever be. I wanna meet the little bugger, get a running start at becoming the root cause of all its neurosis.
God I hate cleaning pans with fried on scrambled eggs. Much elbow grease, and cursing.
Coffee is ready, back I go to the sink.
Coffee is weaker than I like. Shit, you'd think I'd have the machine sorted out by now. Distracted, but by what?
An open ended blog post perhaps? I dunno? This assignment seemed sketchy from the start. Who the hell cares about the musings of a man doing the dishes?
Oh right, the dishes. Whoops.
A pox to eggs, scrambled or otherwise. Oh and the chicken, to hell with them too. Mumble, mumble, curse and scrub.
Nearly done. Starting to wonder if there was a point to any of this? But why be a slave to form, or structure, why produce the expected? Is it so odd to opine while washing the dishes? If so, a pox on you too.