Lately when I try to sit down to write, I have to just sit, sit, sit, as if my head is a concrete room filled with bouncing ping pong balls, and I have to wait for everything to quiet down in there so I can just focus.

I actually like ping pong, and I was thinking about that just the other day as I mentally surveyed the property for a nice flat place to put a ping pong table where it wouldn't be fried by the sun, pooped on by the fox...

Did I tell you about that fox? He is a very particular animal, and he will poop on anything that does not meet with his approval. We got our heating and cooling system replaced last winter, and one of the work guys left a lone glove lying there tragically on the driveway, and it didn't even occur to me to pick up after another grown man, so I left it, and in the morning, there was a perfect pile of fox poop sitting right smack in the middle of it, and I don't know how you can aim so perfectly, what with your behind being so far behind and all the fur and whatnot.

And THANK GOD we got that system replaced, because the duct work was shit, and there was that time the tarantula was sitting there in the hallway about ten feet from The Little One's bed, which was on the floor at the time. And that was the night I had attempted a Tarantula Hunt and had again come back without seeing anything interesting at all, not even fox poop.

Did you know that bear poop looks just like fox poop only bigger? The Little One talked about the polka-dotted bear poop for hours after we saw it when we were camping. You can bet your ass I didn't sleep all that well thinking about the size of the bear who pooped there.

The Little One, as is her habit, had smeared herself with food and had it all stuck in her hair, and angryhusband and I had been calling her "Bear Bait" all night until it stuck. But I finally cut all of her hair off after one too many showers spent pulling burrs out of her hair. It's been just a few days of short hair, and I could just comb it for hours. THE COMB GOES RIGHT THROUGH.

This fox. I poured some soda out of my cup onto the gravel driveway--really, just a few ounces--and the next morning he had pooped right on the spot where the soda was.

Speaking of foxes, that Fox News thing with the Swedes and the Finns is just beyond believable.

The Little One informed me last night that she is allergic to birthday hats. They make her sneeze. Then she told me the story of her birth. Apparently, I pooped and then turned around and saw her.

I never did get to what I came here to write about, but just think: I have to live in this brain 24/7.