Bury your own damn grapes.

Today I woke up at the ass crack of dawn, was running late, hurried off to school, drove thirty minutes, was 10 minutes late, found out that my class changed rooms, finally made it there, and my professor gave us the day off. All that work, all that driving, for nothing! Can I get a communal growl please? Grrrrrrr!

I ended up spending some fun time hanging out with Geoff and Joel, then came home early to spend some quality time with the sun. In an attempt to avoid doing dishes (that later failed) I rested in the grass, feeding grapes to my pups, for over three hours. Those are the most entertaining, yet weak minded animals on earth. I’d throw a grape, they’d hunt, not find it, then later sit on it. On one occasion the evil beagle Lou (soon to be renamed Baloo because of his habit of rubbing his butt on things) found a grape, then spent the next five minutes digging a grand hole, burying it, and carefully covering it up for safe keeping. Later, when I dug up his buried treasure, he sneezed towards me, and is still, six hours later, ignoring me.

Oh, I forgot to tell you about the hole. Do you remember, as a child, any holes you’ve dug? You know, the ones you hear about in the movies “Jimmy told me he dug a hole to China”. Have you ever tried to dig a hole to China? Or have you tried to dig for buried treasure? Well, my brother and I never really dug any great holes. So, a few days ago we just grabbed some shovels and started digging. Oh, it was a beautiful hole. We found all sorts of broken glass, china, old pots, plastic cat toys, rusty nails, and pop can tops. Our parents weren’t too thrilled about the large hole in the middle of the yard, but it was worth it to have a nice childhood memory of a hole dug.


The hole:


And my garland, made with daydreams of Mag on the Moon running through my mind. When we get to go on our trip, Mag, we’ll have to make many more.