Sleep eluded me throughout the stormy night because of some internal ache, which I can triangulate in its relation between my rib cage, shoulder, and spine. My head cold descended to chest congestion and every once in a while my voice gets all phlegmatic & raspy and my ears plug up and I'd sure love to hear this deep cigarette-smoke-sounding phone-sex voice I know I'm sporting but I just can't hear anything.

It was a shit-on-the-rug kind of morning, my goodness what an unbelievable mess. The cat was blamed but upon consideration I think it was the dog. At any rate I fear it destroyed the 200-year-old black-and-red hand-woven Persian camelhair rug in our living room, given to us by a good friend. Yes, the rug was already worse for wear, with frayed edges and a hole worn through it and paint stains and Play-doh mashed into the best side. But the other best side? Now has semi-diarrheal nastiness seeped into the fiber. I fear cleaning it will cause the whole thing to self-destruct. We rolled it up and removed it to the garage. It may have to go the way of all rugs, revered none the less, but destined for decomposition. Unexpected activity left us with fewer than ten minutes to get dressed, and no coffee brewed, before we had to leave home for the day. Far too much excitement. Far too much excrescence.

My boss rides his bicycle to work even in the rain. He got these goggles and he looks like Junior Bird Man so I made the Jr. Bird Man mask with my hands and sang the song and told him he needed water wings, it's that wet out there. He giggled at me. I later heard him saying to the office manager as they went for coffee and a meeting, "You're driving... unless you wanna ride on my handlebars."