Yesterday, after hours of lying on the couch, my eyes spied upon an empty Priority Mail box and I challenged myself to see the poetry in the lines of the box. Lines have a point and all that. I couldn’t be bothered in the end but I have no doubt there is meaning in that box and if I try, I can find it.

Sanitary phone wipes are just like cosmetic surgery. It covers the surface but that’s hidden underneath and within will screw you over every time.

So. My Poppy. She has completely duped me. She’s mastered the art of getting into things. Her ability to jump three feet on my bed is impressive as I discovered last week. Some of my pill bottles that are on my nightstand (only way to get to it is via my bed) were on my floor. I said, “that silly Poppy.” Later that night, I went a’lookin’ for my foam earplugs. They are always in the same place, in a little nook on the nightstand and they weren’t there. I searched the carpet, the bed, the table, the bathroom and then I searched my dogs eyes. Guilty! I remembered one of my foam earplugs had mysteriously gone missing at my parents’ house in October. I’ve got a foam earplug-lovin’ fool as a dog.

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