What the clouds say this morning: We’re being blown really fast, it looks like the world has been spun by a giant hand. We want to remind you that you are travelling at around 700 miles per hour, and that we are both moving around the sun at 67,000 miles per hour.
What the phone does: Ring, it’s the hospital, they’ve had a cancellation, can I come tomorrow morning?
What I can do tomorrow morning: Go to the hospital.
How my job is going: Really well; busy, in fact.
What I say to the cats: Ciao, come stai? They ignore me, except Cuzco who meows as if it to say “cosi cosi,” and “io ho fame!” Va bene, I reply, va bene, va bene!
What we call our cats: Agent amber, Captain Cuzco (often in the likeness of the captain caveman cartoon narrator), and Major Monty.
What my wife is when I get home: Upset because I snapped at her. Stress can cloud your judgment, making you direct your anger in the wrong direction.
What I do to cheer both her and myself up while we unload the dishwasher: I hold the flour-sieve in front of my face and lunge back and forth across the kitchen, pretending I’m fencing and jabbing at her with an imaginary foil. She pickes up a colendar and pretends to spar with me, holding it in front of her face. She then puts the colendar over her head and we laugh at how stupid we look. This is real love.