Friday, May 30


Avocation is one of those words that doesn't mean what I think it should mean. Bygones. I have wood on my floor. Yes, a pile of wood lies neatly on my bedroom floor as I type. I know the wood is there, and yet I continue to trip and stumble over it.

You may ask why there is a pile of wood on my bedroom floor -- which, I must admit, is a perfectly reasonable question. Fear not, gentle reader, for I have not lost of my mind and started hoarding wood products. No. My dad gave me a do-it-yourself bookcase kit, and I eagerly ripped it apart to look at it and put it together. After I read the instructions, I realized I needed to stain the wood before assembly.

But I don't have stain. And it keeps raining. Hence, wood on my floor. If this whole writer/editor thing doesn't work out, I'm becoming a carpenter. I like wood. Just not on my floor. Unless we're talking hardwood floors, but that's a whole other blog entirely.