I have the song, "Our House," by a band called Madness, stuck in my head, and have had it there all this morning, on a loop from near the end, where the melody keeps modulating downward as it fades out, repeating the chorus. Somehow this is tied to Haley, the American Idol Contestant, who made it into the top three last season. The song makes me think of her.
Our house; Haley's and mine, in the middle of our street.

Would Be "So" House-Proud

I'm sure that if we chipped in out of what we each make with our musics, we could have a pretty good life in our house.
This current fixation could only mean that I am dissociating from the unpleasant task ahead, to do laundry.
I have purchased the dishwashing liquid already, but have decided to come here and update this blog, before facing what I might as well get over with.
What remains is to go and gather up all the clothing which is worth washing. It is all, thankfully, in one general spot. There is some which is wet and is in plastic bags, and I am very anxious over the possibility that those particular garments may be harmed beyond the restorative powers of Ajax antibacterial dishwashing liquid.
Phat Tuesday's Sports Bar
I went back to Phat Tuesday's last night, for their "Writer's Block" thing, which happens on Monday nights, and is for poets and others. Most of Dauphin Street was deserted, I observed on my way their. But, I was happy to see that the few who were out seemed to be all there.
I did some improvised stuff, and a version of Crazy About A Crazy Girl, which got a good reception.
I was at the thrift store, looking at clothes this morning and deciding that if I keep my four outfits clean then I can rotate them and give the folks I meet enough variety to keep their lives interesting. I didn't need any more. That way, carrying all the clothes I own won't involve using a Santa Clause sized bag, like the one carried by Gerald, whom I have blogged about before, and referred to as "A poor man's Santa Clause."
Then, I looked at books and decided not to buy any. Paperbacks are 50 cents each, and I couldn't decide weather to get a Ken Follett novel, or a Dan Brown one, which I think was the follow up to The Da Vinci Code. I am reading The Da Vinci Code now, but am not far enough along into it to be sure that I want to invest another 50 cents, to read more of the guy.
I decided not to make any rash decisions, and I left the thrift store no heavier than when I walked in.
I have most of the afternoon to accomplish my purpose, and I might even have time to condition and brush out my hair.
1:13 p.m.