Pass the Heinz

It's time for ketchup. Or catching up.


Sweet potato pie, where has the time gone? I have certainly let the cobwebs grow thick and heavy here. And as I am wont to do, I'd like to apologize and make the promise that you'll start hearing from me regularly. And as much as I'm going to try and make good on that promise, I'm not committing to anything these days. I'd say that life is hectic, only I don't think it's that crazy, or at least not any crazier than normal. I've just been tired. Tired and apathetic. Not wanting to do much of anything, and I'm afraid to say that my apathy is manifesting itself in the form of me not blogging. I have several half-finished posts, but my heart's only been in it halfway, so instead of buckling down and posting, I've just taken naps instead.


I'm sincerely hoping that my muse returns soon, and muse, if you can hear me, please bring cooler temperatures with you. This heat is making me miserable, and is forcing me to do things that I don't really want to do, like sleep in my basement alongside other things.

I actually believe that Nutty, his ghost, or any of his progeny are not in residence in the basement, but something even worse is, or was, living down there last week when I moved into the extra bedroom. Mothra.


I have an abnormal fear of two things, 1) fish, and 2) miller moths. I think the fish fear is the product of spending summers with my grandparents either in the Mississippi River or a reservoir in Colorado, and an overactive imagination of unseen water creatures wanting to nibble on my feet. And millers (that's what we always called them growing up), well I've been afraid of them since I can remember. Growing up in Colorado we always seemed to have an abundance of the pests. And if they got in the house, nothing would really set me off more. Those creepy flappy moths with furry larva-like bodies, blindly flying into light bulbs dive b0mbing your head in the process. Blech.


I do know that these pests are only that. Essentially they are wayward migrators without any intention (or true capability) to nibble on my feet or any other appendage really, but they still creep me out. One summer back in junior high, Colorado had a miller epidemic (in my mind that's what it was). We were overtaken by swarms upon swarms of millers. Gross. It was the most terrifying few weeks of my life. Constantly on the look out for things flapping your way, getting stuck in your hair. I remember one day my VBFF and I were walking down the street and passing by a shrub we awakened hundreds, no, maybe thousands of the things. The dusty cloud of evilness took to the air, and we took to running, and screaming, and flailing away.

So last week, when I took up nightly residence in my scary basement, and I creaked my way down the stairs, I was beyond delighted to hear a familiar flap flap flap. And even better it fluttered on my face. Yippee! I eked out a scream that can only be described as that of a man-child (I've never had a real good shrill girlie scream, this one was no exception. It ended up sounding like a cross between a distraught Quasimodo in the bell tower and me being kicked in the gut). I ran to the little bedroom in the corner of the basement, slammed the door shut, and turned out the light, lest the little creeper follow me in there.

And you know what? There's no real point to this story. Nope. So now we've caught up. Sort of. At least you can all rest assured that Little Ms. Notetaker was not eaten alive by Mothra and that maybe, just maybe I'll post more soon.