We watched that Miranda July movie last night.
I thought she was trying too hard. Life is weird enough, no need for so much embellishment. Just my opinion. But there was this line I’m sure I misheard.
The Cat’s out of the Band.
Maybe I didn’t. I don’t know for sure. I’m tired and trying to recover wits I probably never had. Mother Dearest is gone home and her departure left something in it’s wake. Relief… Regret?
I bathed the dog and mopped the floor. I made a pot of rice and beans to eat with kimchi and avocado, my Puerto Rican meets Korean comfort food. Something my dear Husband so graciously endures.
I am finishing the Alice Hoffman novel we listened to on the way to SF. She has used “he cried for his mother” about thirty times when describing someone’s fear but I can’t leave a story this far into it. It’s an illness, a compulsion, an embarrassing condition, like dandruff or BO.
I need to finish it no matter how bad or stupid or stinky it is.
That stupid cat is most definitely
out of the band.