Tonight, I discovered just how much I dislike the feeling of crumbling feta cheese on my fingertips.
This will be my fifty-sixth rotation around the sun later this year, and only now am I learning this fact about myself.
And I believe it to be an important enough discovery to blog about it.
Huh.
Also just noticed that, when I don’t have my dentures in, I like to press my thumb against the roof of my mouth, along the ridges.
I’m in a sensory-enhanced mood tonight.
Izzy’s soft mewlings at my feet.
The sound of the dishwasher.
The clack of the keyboard as I type this. That’s a two-fer right there.
Even rubbing the sleep out of my eye just now.
Dizzy spell a moment ago.
Couldn’t go twenty-four hours, could I?
Watched Auggie walk in circles for two minutes, while outside looking for a place to pee. Then spent another minute standing by the open door. Like she wasn’t sure why she was there.
Eh. I’ve got nuthin’ else.
It was really about that realization over touching feta.
The rest is just filler.
Hey. At least I’m trying to write.
The Bloody Doors Off 
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