like a big pizza pie

Well, it's 10h45 on a Sunday morning and as usual the church next door is ringing its bells in hopes of enticing (read: guilting) people into interrupting their lazy Sunday mornings in favour or repentence and the quest for spiritual guidance and betterment. Today, however, as I in usual fashion neglect to heed their call, can't help but think that the clanging tune sounds much like That's Amore. Hardly apropos for a House of God, I am thinking. I for a moment entertained the notion that it may be Dean Martin's birthday (it is not, which is June 7, 1917, thank you Google) and that the church was somehow following modern rote and capitlising on celebrtiy endorsement, but alas, not so. Hmmm, they have as such stopped.

Yesterday, I came across a most exceptional opportunity. SO opportune, in fact, that if realised in any fashion will be life changing. One is also trying not to dwell too much on it, as the Masters of Fate seem to steer things in alternative directions if One hopes with all fibre of One's being for one path over another. That being said, One can't help but feel jittery with anticipation of feedback to a forwarded inquiry.

Also tainting the weekend is more than sad news about post-congress travel plans. Disappointment is a most unpleasant sentiment. Worse than sadness I would say, for with disappointment one can't help but dwell (there's One dwelling again) on what MAY have been, and the fabulousness associated with plans never to be realised. But, such is life, many would say.

So, on this rainy blahh day I will do what is best done on rainy, blah days: take residence on couch and watch Bridget. And definitely not dwell.