the chronic

With age, the old habits return.

There are fireworks exploding over the tops of houses across the street. Ozzie cowers under the table, her little foot shaking where it touches my toes. She hates fireworks.

Today spent in and out of dizzy spells. A combination of biking too fast in the heat, not enough water, too much coffee, and getting my period. Perhaps.

I am waiting still for your arrival. In the meantime, the dog pants herself dry and my foot wet as "mi corazon!!!" in tremelo bravado broadcasts from the public radio station. Drown out the snap crackle pop.

Karen and Thaddeus, bequeathers of magical objects to add to my bad habit.

This one needs a baroque frame. Something to keep the mustangs from escaping off the craftsman details.

If you push my back I will snort. Nod my head, I neigh. Also, clip clop, clip clop, clip clop. Call Cameron's phone to hear the full range. "Howdy pardners!" Luci bell, Merry Christmas indeed.

A real dang castle. In Scotland. You travel far, my magical creature!

Even the handbags I bid on and won today on Ebay have equestrian tack detailing. I could be 8 years old, tracing the shadows of horse sculptures on paper taped to the wall.

Legend came in the netflix envelope today. It was horrifying. Still, I watched it. There's a unicorn in that one too, you know. Of course, the unicorn is the least horrifying of the whole mess. Shame on you Ridley Scott.

Despite all the equine damage, I still think we have a tasteful home.

I mean, there's something about the ponies that fit in well with the Mac Dre bobblehead doll on the mantle.

Don't you think? Again, courtesy of the across the street neighbors.

Can you tell? I got my hair lightened?

Can you tell? She got her hair cut again. 1 valerian root capsule shoved on the back of the tongue and then the reward of a frozen turkey meatball to gnaw on. Stop with the shaking.