Me of the Day

Current mood: Tired and headachey.

Exciting news: Today I feasted upon three whole snap peas harvested from my garden (and therefore, kind of, made from scratch!), and they were delicious. My poor body has not had that many vegetables in weeks. It's about time I actually got to reap a little bit of all that I've been sowing this Spring. Though using 'reap' as a verb makes me feel fairly creepy.

Also: Just got home from work after my nearly two week vacation, and found it to be tolerable if tiring. I also invented a new game, whereby I rank my evenings according to the number of different bodily fluids I have cleaned up, kneeled in, or otherwise been exposed to in an uncomfortably intimate way. Tonight was a three star evening. Four stars are unusual, but I've certainly had them before. Five stars would involve exposure to a new and exciting bodily fluid (our centre is all women), or perhaps a loogey fight, which has happened once or twice before.

Mission of the day: Convincing Google that I don't have a self esteem problem. I recently monetized my blog, enabling ads to be placed on the sidebar which are catered to my readership based on the site content...and every single one of those twenty or so ads is advertising a counselling service of one type or other. This is made all the more confusing by the fact that nowhere on my site do I mention self esteem directly...Google clearly knows something I don't, and it is trying to send me a not-so-subtle message.

Also: while I'm not going to quit my day job, which is actually a night job, it would be nice to make a few extra cents here and there from the writing I already do simply because I like to write. Fractions of cents should, theoretically, be sent my way every time someone views the site or clicks on an ad. Those that do these activities often are then rewarded with karma and my eternal gratitude. In case you were wondering.

And finally:

Mustard the Amazing Puppy, A True Story (take that, Google)

I go in my backyard and what to do I see
A puppy named Mustard is climbing a tree!
He’s wiggly and wobbly, I fear he will fall
But Mustard, six inches, desires to be tall.
He reaches the top and I give him a frown
Now how, silly pup, are you going to get down?
But Mustard is clever, he’s planned for this too
And he looks at my face and he says: I’ll use you!
Mustard cries, then he yelps, and I rush to his side
And he jumps in my arms
And I take him inside.

Fin.