Friday, June 17, 2011
The Telltale Drip
Don't be afraid. I know. It's too quiet. Nobody is stirring, not even a tiny, big-eared field mouse that could have snuck in under the basement door to run across my stylish red Croc as I sit in my dark basement lair, illuminated only by the glow of my desktop computer monitor.
Shh...did you hear that? Oh. It's nothing. Just the drip, drip, drip of the dehumidifier. Not the beating of a telltale Diomedes fishing spider's non-chambered heart. There's nobody here. Just me and me.
It's like this every weekend. I've prepared a festive little post for my guests, much like college roommates selling plasma to afford a few bags of pretzels to scatter around the apartment in mismatched Melmac bowls, pretzels being the snack of choice because nobody really likes them, so they last all night. But unlike a rockin' college party, my internet soiree is a virtual ghost town. Dust bunny tumbleweeds scoot to and fro on my gusty, carbon-dioxide sighs.
The weekend is not a friend of creative-juice-drooling Val.