Pointless photo of the day:

We haven't had any insect porn for a while. I figured it was time.

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I've been too busy singing along with the internet radio this morning to bother coming up with a post. I thought about relating the very weird dream that woke me up this morning, but you'd have to know the principals involved to get the full effect. I will say, though, that even in a dream it takes a long time to fill a boat-sized bathtub with water.

Boat-sized, yes. And complete with wooden decking.

Arrr.

Anyway, back to the singing. I haven't talked about it a lot on this new blog, but a regular feature of the old one was my singing problem.

Singing problem, Gracie?

The problem would be that if my spirits are anything better than completely in the toilet, I sing.

A lot.

I sing where some people mumble. Often I'll end up singing without realising I'm singing until someone points out the fact that I am, indeed, singing.





I know it's weird. And shut up, world.

It's not like my singing's horrible. I'm a trained singer, as a matter of fact. There are one or two people out there who even admit to liking my singing. I always tell them not to because it only encourages me, but it's more of a joke than anything.

I don't mind the singing so much.

I'm noticing it at the moment, though, mostly because there hasn't been much singing happening in the past while. My two fans should know that no singing usually translates as Dee has something on her mind. Something more than air pressure, even.

My two fans also should know that when I have something on my mind I almost never tell the blog what that something is. This ain't a diary, folks. If you came here looking for my deepest darkest secrets, you're probably pretty bored by now.

You're probably pretty bored anyway, but that's what you get for coming to a blog where the word pointless is right up there in the title.






Ah well, whatever. Let's leave this half-started topic with the reassertion that I've spent the morning singing along with the internet radio, and you can take any conclusion you want from that.

Or no conclusion, really. It'd be appropriate, since that's how so many of my blog posts end.

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Hey, t.v. club: Today is Sunday. Following Sunday would be Monday. And after Monday is where you usually find Tuesday.

Just thought I'd mention.

I'm not having anyone accusing me of not giving enough notice. No sir. What you do with the notice is entirely up to you.

It'd better have something to do with wine gums, though.