I dunno... something about mustard?

This is the part where I'm supposed to pretend I have something to say after several days of insomnia. I don't, as you might suspect.

Yesterday there were, admittedly, several missing hours from my night. The Toronto office suspects alien abduction, but judging from the fact that I'm almost sort of functional today I'm thinking that I may possibly have been sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time. Weird, huh.

It still doesn't give me anything to blog about, however.

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Wheat managed to get himself fired from the t.v. club this morning. His excuse was something about baseball and reruns, but as there was no rerun I'm not sure I should accept it.

And there are no wine gums here.

A person could get a little cranky, really.

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I still have nothing, if you haven't figured that part out.

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Did you know that I've already written a post about mustard on this blog? That's sad, you know. I put mustard in the title thinking, "well, I don't have anything but I could at least talk about something stupid like mustard," and here I've already done it.

I must have a more obsessive brain than I realised.

There wasn't enough mustard on my ham and cheese sandwich (for sandwich read: stuff I put on a french bun because I'm out of pitas and the world would end if I actually ever made a sandwich with ordinary sliced bread like a normal person) today because my current mustard bottle is getting disturbingly empty. Disturbingly because I could swear that I bought mustard not all that long ago. How long should a bottle of mustard last, anyway? This was the strong deli-style mustard, by the way. It should have had enough flavour to go a fair long way.

Not at my house, I guess.

I'm out of dry mustard too, as of Monday.

I think that maybe I have a mustard problem.

Did you ever wonder what the first person to try eating mustard must have been thinking? The stuff's strong, and it burns. The plant does that on purpose, you know. It's trying to keep itself from being grazed by making sure it's unpalatable.

Unpalatable to everything but humans.

Homo sapiens (strictly, Homo sapiens sapiens. Because saying it twice is twice as nice) is a very strange animal that way.




And in many others.

I see there's a message on my phone because I decided I didn't have to answer it during my lunch break. My lunch break is pretty much over, so I'm either going to have to pick the voice mail up or pretend I've developed red-green colour blindness and can no longer see the little message light that's glaring away at me right now.

Either way, it seems that blatherage time is over for today.

Don't applaud too loudly, for heaven's sake. You might wake up the other voices. You know, the ones who wish I would talk about ketchup now and then instead of going on and on about mustard...