The coffee curve. I'm at

March 08, 2002

The coffee curve. I'm at the bottom of the coffee curve right now. That first cup starts your ascent. It feels so good that you definitely have two and you're off to let the day drag you behind it like a tin can on the wedding car. As you lose momentum you have another cup. The inside of your mouth turns into an old sofa and you stop halfway through the fourth cup wondering why you keep drinking it if it tastes so bad. Bottom of the curve. After dinner you feel like its time to get back on the curve and you jack up on a nice cup at about 6:30. Now you are ready to do things and talk about doing things. The top of the curve hits at around 8:30pm. Here's where you make the critical decision. Another cup takes you 'til 2:00am when you can't sleep, you're exhausted, and your brain cannot be wrestled from its hamster wheel. The bottom of the curve.

Uh oh...a cat has just met the neighbour's two Rottweilers in their fenced yard. The sound is nature's audio equivalent to the car accident. I hope its not my cat. Check. Nope. The Ginger cat is now sitting at a safe distance calmly cleaning itself. The grumpy lady from the back lane is calling her two Chihuahuas (with German names) to safety. She loves them so much. She loves them so much that she loves their poo too. She refuses to carry a bag and clean it up like other responsible dog owners because: a) she figures the turds are so small that no one will notice b) she feels we should love her little dogs so much that we would allow them a completely natural psychological experience during bowel movements. c) she thinks no one can see her leaving the crap on their lawn. This morning I was playing road hockey in the alley with my youngest and while retrieving the ball from the grass I glided over one of the tiny morsels. Instead of walking over to her door and asking her to clean my rollerblades I did what any normal person would do. I flung the pile lacrosse style over her garage and into her yard with the blade of my hockey stick. I may have overtorqued the follow-through and accidently hit her back window. My son asked me why I did that and I said, "those were the little dogs poops and I figured they might want them back". He laughed. He's not stupid. I was at the top of the coffee curve I guess.