I don't know what to say. I am unmotivated to blog right now. Maybe I need a breather. Speaking of breathing, I have a theory as to the source of my "sinus infections," which of course the ENT doctor says I do not have, before he told me I had one, that is. It occurred to me that goose down may be the culprit. See, the story goes like this. While the roofer-turned-painter has been here . . . he's still here . . . well, while he was pressure washing the house and deck, I took my perfectly fabulous Pottery Barn quilt that I got at the PB Outlet in SC for about two cents and draped it over the couch, to protect the couch from water streaming in the crack of the French doors, you've heard of those French doors. Where the two doors meet, it's not tight and water sops in. I didn't want water to hit the couch, for Heaven's sake, which is only four feet in front of the Frenchies. I'm not sure that I wanted the water to hit the PB quilt, either, but I'm running on limited resources right now, resources of a mental nature, at least.

Meanwhile, there goes my light blocker. See, I scrunch that quilt up next to me on the bed every morning when the sun rises so it will block the light glaring in around the big windows. This is true, it's what I do. Then I can sleep better. Now, what to do? My scrunchy quilt is serving duty on the couch. So I scan the bedroom for a worthy substitute and I spot it! I take my big old down comforter, which was never put away after our really cold Florida winter (it was!) and I crumple it on my bed to shield me from the realities of daytime. Comforter had been posing rumpily (my version of an adverb, I think?) on the ironing board in the corner of the bedroom, lo, these many months, we have a HUGE bedroom, no need for it, it just beckons the junk. And the junk answers the call. It is not a problem that comforter is in the way of ironing, since I avoid ironing at all costs. But originally, when I set ironing board in one corner of the room, I must have entertained dreams of being tidily clothed and gracing the dining table with pressed placemats. Such visions I have, and I always wake up. My friend irons her sheets. Really.

What MIGHT be a problem is that coughing up green stuff coincided precisely with the two mornings I enlisted the comforter's help. In addition, I was sick ALL LAST WINTER, which, I just told you, was exceptionally cold, so I used the down comforter a lot. When the little bell started tinkling, I heaped the thing back on the ironing board, it makes a very fine heap. And right away the green stuff subsided. PLUS, I didn't have a sore throat before the coughing, which normally has been the case in past years, but not necessarily last winter.

But how can I get rid of my cozy comforter? You wanna know how I got that thing, it's very nice and it's Scandinavian. Absolutely years ago I saw a picture in a magazine of the house I wanted to build. Everything about it was so perfect, except the front of the house, it had no windows . . . weird. Nevertheless, the rest of the outside and the inside was me to a T. Very slick and clean and uncluttered . . . minimalistic. Well, in one of the bedrooms they had the prettiest flowered bedspread or quilt, it reminded me of my granny's couch slipcovers in Michigan. So I saw that this bedspread was from NYC. So we went to NYC one day and walked 10 miles to find this store that had the me-to-a-T bedspread. But it wasn't the pretty bedspread at all, it was a plain, but well-made, down comforter, with no pretty cover or anything. The magazine deceived me, they listed what was INSIDE the beautiful duvet cover, instead of the cover itself. Well, this still doesn't explain how I wound up with the comforter, I don't exactly remember that part of the story. But wind up with it I did. It just showed up in the mail one day.

Now I'm going to have to see about getting a down mite-proof enclosure. Always sumpin'.

If the comforter is not killing me, then maybe it was that I spoke with the painter while he was SMOKING. He's quit 5 times, don't you know. I should be his inspiration to make it the 6th. Really. My neighbor across the street does not allow the workmen to smoke on her property, as her pets might eat the cigarette butts. Speaking of butts, once when I was a Pharisaical little kid a passer-by threw a cig butt down on the ground, right in front of my neighbor Brad's house. We were all hanging out, and I watched as Brad, all of 8 years old, picked up that burning butt and took a great big curious puff. Of all the unholy nerve! I was incensed (furious) and told him I was through with him basically forever. Smoking, whew!, you couldn't get much worse than that, the bad little evil little sinner. He promptly repented in sackcloth and ashes, ha, and begged forgiveness, which I grudgingly granted. Honestly, how I survived childhood would be interesting to know. I just read an interesting verse in Ecclesiastes, something about not being TOO good. Not being too evil either, of course. But fearing God, that's how you come out ahead. Well, that verse would have been good to know all along.

I have some more theories as to my sinus grief, like recently increasing my dairy intake so I still have bones this time next year. Mike still holds that it's 'cause I stay up all night. Well, whatever it is, it's gotta go. I even thought maybe it's the ink from the newspapers. How healthy can that be? Newspaper ink never dries. You can smell it. You, of course, can see it, too. I see it all over the white door jambs (very few "J" pages in the dictionary, BTW) in my house. No one in my household, except yours truly, understands the black newsprint ink concept, nor the greasy fingers concept. Nor the wiping the mouths of jars before replacing lid concept, for that matter. Nor the eating in the dining room is a good thing concept. Well, news ink, it's a cumulative thing. Once a certain number of newspapers stack up, then the combined forces of so much ink, vats of ink, yes, all that ink, triggers, yes, assaults, the sinus. I would rather get rid of my newspapers than my quality down comforter.

For someone who had nothing to say, she did just that. Aren't you glad screen ink is odorless, at least? I really have more theories, but thankfully for all of us, I forget what they are.

Theoretical KEM

PS The $.49 Corning Ware dish I bought at The Garage Sale Store for my dog is working out beautifully.