Well, drat.

It's only the middle of the month and I've already missed two days.  I have no excuse for Saturday, but yesterday I came over all flushed and dizzy and left work at 2pm to come home and fall asleep instantly for two hours. That was followed by grogginess and general blech and then still more sleep, only this time interrupted by a dog arriving at 11:30pm and then running amok upstairs.  Pets are not allowed in this building, but there is a dog that pays calls to my neighbors nearly every day. He comes with a man, but the man is quieter than the dog.  Nevertheless, nearing midnight on a Monday is rather late to pay a call. I don't love these visits, but I am informed that he keeps a check on the rat population in the back yard, so I suppose I owe him a debt of gratitude. The dog, that is, not the man. I'd like to pretend that there was no rat population in the back yard to begin with, but it happens that I saw one once, strolling along the retaining wall across from my kitchen window, so the bliss engendered by my former ignorance has gone all to hell.  I suppose someone had to keep the spiders company.  The rats, not the dog.

Mostly what I've been feeling is that is totally ridiculous to be talking about--oh--my back yard and my summer vacation and all, when everyone else is writing these passionate political essays about the downfall of America.  I really don't feel qualified to write about the downfall of America, despite being thoroughly sickened by a the recent appointment of a white supremacist to the White House, which, incidentally, is not meant to imply that it is a house meant only for white people. Egads. Whatever have we come to?  In this moment of national catastrophe is it not actually disrespectful to write about my very small life?

But then, I said I would.

 Talya is in Barcelona and writing a play every day.  I've been envious because she is provided with writing prompts so doesn't have to talk about her garden or the downfall of democracy.  But she has informed me that more than once her prompt has involved drunk dogs. To wit, "Write a scene where two drunk dogs are having an argument and a lion and a zebra come in."  Thanks, but I'll pass.  I'm already having enough trouble with writing.  And with dogs.