Stuck.

"Wastin' away again in margaritaville. Lookin' for my lost shaker of salt." That tune has been playing over and over and over and over in my head for two days. Forget analyzing sleep. Now I want to be a part of a think tank that analyzes that incredibly annoying phenomenon. I haven't had a single margarita in, well, forever. Maybe it's because I heard "Kokomo" on the radio this weekend and it talks about the Florida Keys and that's where Mr. Buffet hangs out. "Kokomo" was also a question on the pop culture quiz; you had to name all eighty-five places sung in that song. It was really only about six. Here's a random insight into my mind . . . whenever I exaggerate numerically, it always involves an eight of some sort. Don't know why, but my kids will confirm it. All eight hundred and sixty-three of them.


Tonight, as Tyler was leaving, he said something about the boom being really loud today. I whirled around in my chair and yelled, "What? What are you talking about?" For the last week, precisely at 4:00 (or anywhere from 4:00-4:15) our whole house shakes for what I've been assuming is no good reason. It lasts for several seconds. Then Tyler explained that they blow something up every day around that time at the construction site behind the pool. I was SO relieved. My mind was running wild with possible scenarios. That's a total lie. I probably had one-eighth of an idea and at this moment I can't even make anything up. But I'll try. Aliens pulsating our home to extract the humor cells from my brain (because, really, have you ever seen a hilariously funny alien?)? Or some underground gas line that's preparing to blow us to kingdom come? I asked Ron today if he felt it. He was out walking Zooey and he didn't notice anything. Sometimes I wonder if he's really connected to this planet. Anyway, I can sleep well tonight knowing that my funniness is not in jeopardy of being stolen. I know, I know. You're relieved, too.