Rayup. Her growth curve appears to be slowing down a little. 30 inches, 20 lbs 13 oz. I asked the Dr. about Ray grinding her teeth, and the Dr. said not to worry about it. All appears to be well with the bebe!

Ramble. I don’t know how to say what I want to say…here goes: Writing isn’t just scratching the cat until it purrs, but it seems like so many people have forgotten to scratch the cat at all that fewer people like to read than like to watch TV. Go to any bookstore that sells magazines.

Denver. Despite being a very good girl for a teething, sniffling bebe, Ray drove me up the wall yesterday. She was great over at the Testerman’s. Two (big) dogs romped all over with her, she opened (after a few belly-flops onto the package) her birthday present (including a shirt with a fuzzy bear that she

Ray. The two upper teeth are officially both in now. Ten days to birthday and counting.

Suckage. Eesh. The folks I work for have introduced a new product…something that was supposedly going to change our workload from 300 apps a day to a thousand. We laughed. Shouldn’t have. We’re up to 600-750 apps. a day. Workload capacity before product: 400 apps. Walkouts since product introduced: 2 people, or approximately 60 files.

Ins and outs, ups and downs. Out: Name of the Feather, by yours truly, to Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. In: Things You Don’t Want… from Wierd Tales, with a subtle put-down “so what’s the point” letter. Since Lee passed Things You Don’t Want as wierd-but-good, I’ll take the rejection as being a) too literary or

Btw The joke last week, as donated by a co-worker, was: “Why was the ink blot crying?” “Because his mom was in the pen and he didn’t know how long the sentence was.”

The Horns of a Dilemma, or, Chew through the Damn Rope and Break into the Hay Barn So Ray’s walking around in the kitchen, spots a loose goldfish cracker, and shoves it in her mouth, not noticing that I’m offering her a piece of yogurt bar at the same time. She looks up. Puh! Out

Project. Why? I don’t know. It’s just one of those things, you wake up and you know. I had a dream that I was cross-stitching a nudie picture. I haven’t cross-stitched in over a decade, I guess. Nevertheless. The’s an ant crawling over my pen box. Why is there an ant crawling over my pen

Anniversary redux. Familiarity breeds. Content. (No, I’m still on depo.)