“What is this?” He asked picking up a manila envelope from the old antique desk.

“It’s a bundle of white sage I ordered. We are going to bless the house.” She answered in a confident tone that nearly guaranteed his participation.

“Oh. Well…” He said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. It was obvious he was very worried he’d likely be trapped in some sort of tribal ceremony. His only hope was that this time he’d be allowed to wear clothing. “Just don’t forget to bless your bong.”

“The problem is that we’ve had too much to drink.” He said, rather sloshily.

“And, too little to eat.” She said solemnly, swallowing the last of her martini and popping an olive into her mouth.

“I can fix that!” He hopped up narrowly avoiding a collision with the kitchen island.

“Sandwiches alright?” He voice was a little too high.

“Sure.” She answered, popping the top off of a fresh bottle of Stella Artois. The thought of standing to shake another martini made her stomach do nasty flip-flops.

There was much rustling in the kitchen, cupboard doors opening, the sound of the crisper drawer of the fridge slamming closed. He paced the kitchen looking entirely confused almost as if he didn’t know where he was or quite what he was doing.

“Uh…” He said, looking completely confused and barely standing.

“Yes?” She asked, watching him with an amused expression.

“Did you want anything other than bread on that?”

Swoosh came the muffled sound from between the couple at the next table.

“Well, that was just ridiculous!” the gentleman exhaled loudly.  “I think that burned my knuckle!”

The woman giggled. “You just know that we are going to strike that one day and it’s going to blow our eyebrows off!”

He laughed nervously. And, the lighter began to strike again, there was an audible inhale followed by a feminine exhale.

“You know,” she paused, seeming to recall something,”Oh, I bet that is the lighter those boys were messing with last 4th of July, trying to make a bomb or something! Now it shoots a 6 inch flame!”

“That’s like mom trying to use the gas barbecue that one summer, remember?” He asked.

“Yes, it took her weeks to grow her eyelashes back.”

“Poor dear, she just kept talking about the big blue flash. Never should have had her face over the grill.”

She laughed and began to strike the lighter again, flick, flick there came the swooosh sound again, it reminded one of the sound a blow torch makes. “Oh dear!” She said in a shocked tone.

He raised his eyebrows, “Oh see! You have got to turn that thing down!”

The wind is beginning to blow and big puffy clouds are floating by. True Autumn weather can’t be that far away. The house is dark and I’m enjoying that feeling of euphoria that only the first 30 minutes after a migraine has ended can bring.

I’ve just finished a drink, the first of the evening and I’m relishing the feeling of the tension unwinding from my shoulders. It makes me want to have a nice shot of Patron just to keep the warm fuzzies coming.

S.O. is coming down with a cold. This means that if he doesn’t get over it in the next 24 hours I’m going to have a horrible weekend. Lounging around in bed all day is sexy and relaxing if it doesn’t involve a box of kleenex and piles of cold meds on the nightstand.

I can feel it coming, that zing feeling when I have a creative idea strike me. I have 3 tables I need to refinish, two lamps to refinish, two rooms that need to be painted, and an art project for a large blank space in the den. The thought of delving into a creative project thrills me. It also has a way of consuming me, which makes me reluctant to jump on board just yet because I’m more inclined to spend some quiet time with S.O.

I am just so bone tired. Life feels like it is moving at the pace of molasses running uphill in winter. I’m slogging through the sludge just trying to figure out where I can be productive and where I can say, “enough is enough, time for a nap!”

There are things that need to be done, should be done but are just so mind numbingly tedious and boring that it feels like a complete waste of energy to think about them let alone actually complete them. It’s not as simple as “I need to fold a load of laundry” and not as complex as say, doing your own tax returns. I suppose it falls somewhere in the middle and either way makes very little difference in my mind.

Life feels as if it has become one struggle bleeding into another. I want to be the kind of person who claims to have learned so much from these experiences, but right now? I just want a vacation, a pedicure, and a drink.