Hop To

I'm getting so sick of hopping around with my bum foot -- and I'm not too crazy about these crutches. I'm wearing white flannel PJ pants drawstring-type with baby blue tiny snowmen on them -- the air conditioning is on too high -- and a Reebok tee-shirt, my big silver cross on a black cord, green jade on gold necklace, got my hair doing a Dharrma thing with a barette holding my bangs back.

Knocking around my house alone for the whole weekend -- surprising people who call when I'm just plain here and pick up. Eating salmon and pickled ginger -- perfect pink dinner. My laptop's sitting on my fanny lifter in the livingroom watching tv. My computer doesn't like watching TV, she's whining about it. "It's too noisy, it's stupid, it's not easy to get any real information from it," she says, "Yeah, maybe," I say. I'm drinking Vanilla Diet Coke. I'm looking over at my son's SonyPlaystation2 lustily ... my son's with his dad this weekend ... maybe I should ... hmmm ... he'd never know, right?