Saturday morning

• I should not be surprised when the neighbor's dog pounces on Chickadee a week before school pictures and leaves a horrible-looking scratch down her cheek.
  
• Neither should I be surprised that--in retelling this story to a friend--I am laughed at for belaboring the photo angle just seconds after saying that a millimeter to the left and she would've lost her eye.
  
• Friday nights are hard.
  
• Sometimes they are unexpectedly made easier with Instant Messenger.
  
• I am going to hell.
  
• My children will allow me to sleep in on Saturdays, if by "sleep in" you mean "come tattle on one another relentlessly until I get up."
  
• It seems I sent Jay a whole lotta traffic last month.
  
• Which is why I'm quite sure he will nominate me for a Diarist Award. Seems only fair.
  
• Apparently this is the last quarter I'd be eligible in the "new" category. (Hint, hint.)
  
• I am uncomfortable plugging myself. But not so uncomfortable as to render me unable to do so.
  
• I am going to hell. Possibly for all the immoral and annoying things I do, or maybe just for being repetitive.