Weightless Again

The post that got misplaced last night was a strange rambling tome about cookies, yo-yo's and Leila Josefowicz. None of those topics have anything to do with each other, but as I recall, there was some lovely diction in the text. And this paragraph has nothing to do with the paragraph that follows:

I was driving home tonight contemplating dinner. My gut told me I should contrive a sensible meal so I can eat and go to bed comfortably at a reasonable hour. My dopamine receptors told me I should acquire two McRib sandwiches and stay up until at least 4am 'surfing the net' and playing PS2. Well, the only people who ignore their dopamine receptors are recovering substance abusers; and Bill is no friend of mine. So here I am.

But with it being Good Friday now, I won't eat meat for another 22 1/2 hours.

If I have nothing better to do on this Holy Weekend, I may indulge in some false cinematic piety and catch a screening of the "Jesus Chainsaw Massacre."

I really wish I had some cookies and yo-yo right now.

About seven hours ago, I was writing a post here. But, I lost the text and then I went to bed. I would recreate it, but at 9:00am those words don't make the same kind of sense they did at 2:00am.

Seen on the Highway:

A woman in a convertible with a refrigerator in the passenger seat.

A flatbed truck with a dozen 10-foot tall fiberglass guitars.

It's warm outside, it's baseball season and the McRib is back. What wondrous times we live in.

I should really write something here...