I didn't mean to make that M!ffy post the only thing up here all week, though at some point I did intend to add this:

(I still haven't heard back from M!ffy's legal defense team; I hope it gets more interesting, though, so I can devote a whole page of this Web site to what's been kind of a formal and dull exchange of correspondence between me and Amsterdam).

Anyway, last night Jack had a gig so Jackson and I ordered Chinese food and I sort of half-watched the nearly unwatchable Cat in the Hat while I worked up a longish (but now deleted) post about how I went to this week's therapy appointment and when I came back I found that, in a stunning bit of metaphoric transference, my dog had spread the bathroom garbage all over the living room. The next day she barfed up two used tampons, and this morning she pooped out some dental floss. And I think that's all you need to know about that.

Therapy is funny. You might say that it stirs up some of the deeper currents, and then everything on the surface starts shifting, too. It's not that I'm so unhappy, but I am seeing how if I don't make a change in direction I might end up someplace I never wanted to be. So the usual bloggy song and dance would have seemed kind of fake this week. Sorry for the non-informative nature of this post. I'm still trying to get the imagined sensation my dog must have enjoyed as she foraged through my discarded gore out of my throat.

Whose bright idea was it to domesticate these vile beasts?