I'm kind of stuck down in the parlor today. I've got a guy doing yard work (Tony hasn't had the time, seeing as how he's working like 80 hours a week and only home 4 days) and my doctor hasn't approved me for hard labor. So Steve and Ronnie are raking leaves. They live in the neighborhood. Steve is a little odd, but that's par for the course. This is Old Louisville, the home of crackpots, crackheads, and students (who often fit into one of the other groups). I suppose I qualify as a crazy writer lady.
So I'm working on the design document for the St. James Ct. Art Show and cursing my beatiful but ungainly nails. It's like learning to type all over again. It is driving me nuts. I'm seriously thinking about going to a salon and saying "Please, for the love of god, trim these suckers!"
I have to go to the bathroom but I have CIL (cat in lap), so I'm stuck. I think they have a sixth sense for these things -- either they cuddle with you right before you're about to get up or when you have to pee. It's like your nose only itching when you do dishes.