diatribe of a debbie downer
I’m lounging in my bed, stuck here because that’s where the power cord for my laptop resides, listening to the obnoxious cries of the baby ducks in the next room, as I try to formulate something to write as a blog post tonight.
I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve been a bit off lately. But everyone has off days, right? I’m not alone in that. Life isn’t a Skittles commercial. Sometimes you go to taste the rainbow and all you get is a mouth full of cloud. I know I sound like a Debbie Downer, and so what. Debbie Downers of the world unite! We need love too.
I think my problem is a simple one. The simple life just isn’t very exciting. Oh, sure, I shoo chickens out of the kitchen at least once a day. Chase off the neighbors dogs three or four times more than that. But interactions with a juvenile rooster (or a young cock as it were) may be stimulating (sorry, I couldn’t resist) but hardly thrilling. Ok, so talking to a rooster is kind of exciting. He bites.
What I need is an adventure. And I’m not willing to venture into the scary basement to find one. I think I need a day trip…or a night of karaoke…or maybe it’s time I broke down and got that bikini wax after all.
Listen to me. Bikini wax? Foolish. Desperate. Crazy.
It could work.
Until the next time…I’ll be weighing my options.