Bread and Wine

And a hefty chunk of an index finger. My right one, to be exact. So, it's not so bad, considering I am sinister, in the eponymous definition, but it is a pain, considering it took me more than a few minutes to type this, due to a clutzy band-aid protruding from my pointer and hammering at superfluous letters. Damn you, 3M! Damn you for making such a nice, cushy barrier for my boo-boo. After all the years my grandmother put in to your company... And all we got was a lousy lifetime supply of Scotch tape. You like that? Yeah, pretty good stream of conscious nothingness. And I'm not even drinking. Not yet. I was starting to drink last night, but only got a swig in before I sliced a goodly portion of my finger on a nice, German-engineered bread knife. So much for me going in for the whole we-are-the-(white, EU) world combination of a barollo, a baguette and some gouda. I am torn these days. The serotonin levels have crept back up, thanks to Mr. Sunshine showing his bloody face for a day, and 'bout time, you weak bastard. It was 70-something here in the 510 area code, and there was nary a cloud in the sky, so me and the munchkings hauled it to the park on Hearst and Milvia in Berkeley, partly because the kids' grandmother works nearby at UC Extension, and partly because the swings there kick arse, because they are rigged so high, you don't have to push anyone far to see little faces grin in delight. Also, lastly, and perhaps most importantly, there are rarely canine things sniffing about and marking their territory, which gives the whole place a good (clean) vibe. You can call me a dogist or whatever, but go over to Willard Park and try to avoid the stench of dog crap and urine for 30 seconds. If you can stomach the fumes and still manage to awkardly frolick in the tot land area with your knee-high wards, then you can get all up on me with your very telling "Dog is my Co-Pilot" bumper stickers. You freaks. Anyway, oh, hey! Another aside! What IS my problem... Hm. I am torn. And not too organized, by the looks of this post, and so, therein, perhaps, lies my rub. I am torn, because I am feeling a story bubbling up from the slime, and I'm having a hard time shaping it. I am not even sure what I want to focus on, in terms of a plot, but these characters are talking pretty loudly in my head, kind of like the barkers at a carnival. Weird. I may have to start using this blog for some drafts, soon. Unless it rains again tomorrow. Then, all bets are off. I'll probably just eat another container of ice cream and lie prostrate.