Rice Krispies

I’m always wondering why and how Rice Krispies cement themselves to the side of the cereal bowl if left standing for only a few minutes. If you leave them standing significantly longer, they’re near impossible to hack off. I wonder if it’s the starch in the rice turning to glue, I can only hope my son’s and any other Rice Krispy eater’s digestive systems are significantly moist to keep the little critters from adhering internally. One of the small mysteries of life. I wonder why no one has captalized on the bonding power of Rice Krispies, I mean, they’ll come out of the dishwasher in tact, and one with the bowl.

I signed my divorce papers this morning, it was surprisingly banal and anticlimatic. I’m not looking forward to our coming day in court next Monday. That’s where I’ll have to say “yes” when I’m asked if I accept this agreement as fair and just, because I don’t, but also know there’s nothing I can do about it. And really, it's just sad, all of it. I'm sad my kids don't have an intact family, I'm sad I don't have a life partner, I'm sad it all was the way it was.

I’ve been so sleepy all week and my fellow sea lice surviror say’s he’s been unusually tired all week. We’re wondering if we have lingering jellyfish toxin floating around our systems. Then again, maybe we just don’t get enough sleep. My partner-in-crime’s stings have gone away, mine are morphing from bright red bump to bright red splotch. I was so grossed out by the thought of jellyfish larvae stinging me, that a friend suggested I just imagine them as teeny-tiny little jellyfish, so I am. I imagine swimming with adorable, little cartoon jellyfish and it’s not so bad.

All I can think about is getting on a plane. I almost feel frantic about it. I want to jump in the water and swim away. At the same time, I’ve had a lovely week. I got a lot of work done, many things checked off my to-do list, the kids are still happy to see me, I’m planning little dude’s birthday celebration and talking graduation parties with the tall one. Life is good, I don’t know why I want to swim away.

My photo shoot went well although afterwards I noticed my hair was kind of frizzy and the photographer looked all of 16-years-old, despite his R.I.T. pedigree. He was very sweet, but I wonder if he would have told me if I was slouching or had food in my teeth. We took headshots and working shots, yeah, I pretended to be working, I should have put my glasses on, it was all kind of odd and uncomfortable, yet thoroughly forgettable and survivable. I hope I wind up looking nice, I hope I like the article, I hope I can read about myself without breaking out in hives or vomiting. Maybe a nice, divorced dad, and scuba diver will see my picture in the magazine, fall in love with me from reading my blog and invite me on a tropical vacation. A girl can dream, right? Especially since I’m days away from being an official divorcee.