Life Today, Without Comment

In the background, through the speakers, Jack White at his rhythmic, Zeppelin-y loudest, in front of me, on the TV, some terrible daytime doctor program for lobotomized ladies and shut-ins. I'm neither really watching or listening. The baby has strewn toys to every corner of the living room. There are pears in her hair and I think the dog has fleas. Correction, the dog definitely has fleas. The dog is outside, alone, which she hates. I wish I didn't wish we never had her. Violet scooted around the floor, downstairs, then upstairs while I made the beds, from 8-11, collecting dust bunnies on her clothes and eating some old food she found behind her highchair. Malcolm has a sore throat. I have to work again at the restaurant tonight. I have to be on top of things. I have to take the garbage to the dump and scrub the egg yolk from the counter. There are twelve yellow leaves like vellum clinging to the tree outside my window.