With the threat of 2 inches of snow the city is abuzz. The grocery stores are crowded; there is a run on milk- we must hunker down for the impending doom. Everyone talks about the “winter warnings” The city is already saying they wont have enough salt for the roads to get through winter- it’s unclear how this is possible due to the fact that it has only snowed once so far and it snows each year.

Frogs might as well be falling from the sky to hear the local news programs. The weatherman finally gets his day- with all the catastrophes in the word he often feels left out. There are dark circles under his eyes because he’s been up all night “tracking the storm” Of course tracking the storm means he’s been looking at a satellite pictures in a comfy chair- I suspect it’s easier than tracking the one armed man but he looks more run down than Richard Kimble. He’s on edge- ready to smack the bubbly, blonde-headed news anchor right in her perversely white teeth but not so frazzled that he will mess with the sports guy.

All we can do is sit and wait for the 2 inches of cold death to appear over-night. We sleep uneasily. The roads are deserted.

When we awake there is no snow- nothing. “The city has been saved!” we cry. The “Great Storm of 2008” shifted north sometime time during the night- the weatherman tracked it. He looks relieved. I'm half expecting him to say, "I'm getting too old for this shit." We all take the day off just in case it sneaks back to get us. When did we become such wimps?

I have got to rethink a few things.

I have this plan to write a book. The plan does not involve getting the book published, only writing it. I used ot laugh at myself for this goal, if your going to plan why not plan big, plan the publication, the movie rights, the classic status? I can get lost in the dream sometimes- I could easily have an Oscar speech completed before I've ever taken an acting class, so I'm trying to keep it simple. I need to work in baby steps and not lose sight of what is important. What is important is that I'd like to write a complete story that I believe in. I'm beginning to think that an entire book it too much to chew. I will focus on a smaller goal- write a chapter, write a page, write one decent paragraph.

The weather in the Midwest has been beautiful. It was 70 degrees yesterday and I even heard the faint rumblings of a spring thunderstorm. There is nothing I like more than thunder that rattles the windows- it makes me feel safe and secure in my house to hear all hell breaking loose outside.

Ponette, the tricolored bitch cat from hell, vomited on me last night while I slept. Actually she threw up on the downcomforter that covered me. When I was naive I would have explained this away as just an unfortunate accident. I even would have picked her up and said, "ohh does my little kiddy widdy have an upset tummy wummy?"- now I know- cats are the vengeful agents of Satan. This is what I remember of the events in question: As I made my way to the bathroom, in the middle of the night, I accidently kicked Ponnette, who was sitting on the floor. She threw up on me after that...coincidence? I think not. Cats are very resentful which is why there are no cats in heaven- that is absolutely true. They go to cat hell where, for all eternity, they try to play with kitty toys that are just out of reach under the couch.

(This is my second post regarding cat vomit -yea team!)