I actually have Vonage at home, and most of the time it’s great. TiVo staged a death match with Vonage which called for intervention, so I had to switch the TiVos over to use the network instead of the phone line. But otherwise, it’s been good. Less than half the price I was paying for the old phone line, and since we make about 10 calls a month, it’s a good deal.

But we definitely get some noises that sound like the new Superman’s extendo hearing. Boing. Boing.

The library has a book I’ve been waiting for.

Now I have to reread the first two books in the series. Yay for Greg Keyes.

Sackcloth is “An incoherant and ridiculous attempt at verse” that apparently is beyond understanding.

I can’t decide if I’m perplexed or just depressed.

Got the first bill from the surgery.

So, um, yeah. Boss, about that raise…

I am a happy happy egg.

I’m usually a sleeper, a hell of a sleeper. I can sleep through terrible things.

A few years ago, my cat Tuffy stuck a claw in my eye. I went downstairs, asked Steve if I was bleeding, and when he said no, I went back to bed. The doctor at the emergency room the next day just gaped at me.

“But this is the sort of thing that brings people here immediately.”

I shrugged. “I was sleepy.”

But the past few days have been filled with restlessness. Unease. Last night was the new bed and I hoped to drop off in a cloud of blissful luxury firm. Instead, I thrashed and woke every few minutes, sure that my alarm was about to go off.

The answer is simple: I gots de stress, baybee.

I turned it down.

And now I’m left wondering, seriously wondering, if I’m as stupid as that sounds.

I am. I really could have used that money. Some impulse rose up and I found myself saying that no, it’s not important and no, I don’t think I’ve earned it and oh, have you considered giving it to X instead?

And then I get to come home and look through the bills and feel sick.

I got my new bed, though, and it’s purty.

Wait, this is a good opportunity to plug my book.

Buy a copy. Feed a stupid poet!

I don’t think I have a future in advertising.

Waiting, waiting, waiting
We’re anticipating
Delivery guys uncrating
New beds!

Mattresses all puffy
Sheets and bedskirts fluffy
Silky smooth not rough-y
New beds!

Load ’em up! Haul ’em in!
Set ’em up! New beds!

Tall as trees! Soft as breeze!
Jubilees! New beeeds!

According to the plastic surgeon today, the wrist is lookin’ good. But dang there are a lot of stitches on that thing. I keep expecting a lightning strike and a shout of “It’s aliiiive!”

I could so do my hair like Elsa Lanchester.

If I ever put a photo on the back of a book, I will.

Are intentionally ugly? Like the person who picked them out wanted to make sure her in-laws didn’t come for an extended visit or something?

The tub is baby blue. That’s bad.

But the doors are three panels of baby blue plastic, with an embossed design that looks straight out of an anatomy book.

And each edge of the embossing seems to grab all passing water spray and transform it into a lime deposit that could be cut into blocks and used to make a courthouse!

Woe.