----in my own way.

There is no "feng shui" in these living quarters. That's not what impresses and occasionally depresses me; rather, there is not pithy pun to sling which comes close to rhyming with the said phrase.

It's a Monday morning, mainstream school is out, and with various musical endeavors flying about in a swing haze---give me time even if I don't stay on the beat---as an initial call yesterday in the selling Blue Bossa hasn't resolved yet, much is in the air.

Much is also on the small part of the counter next to the kitchen sink. The coffee machine, cans of coffee and equally important bean grinder dominate and its unruly subjects include stray silverware and even the plastic lid type entity's whose coffee cans were long disposed. They are there because, well, every little bit in the blue recycle bin equals citizenship but I just keep forgetting to take them down.

Time for some dish cleaning; citizenship again, I run the water in only the short bursts required. "Garbage disposal" is an unfortunate term of near abuse and that is not practiced here about. But much like the hoping for truth in the myth the short bursts will non-amount to anything, I run the in-sink-"eradicator" also in short bursts for fragments and residue. Oops, here is a spoon making free-form jazz percussion. A reach for the switch involves a quick dodge of Herr Coffee and a recently purchased cheap porcelain bowl is stricken. The term "fall" attains two categories: one is to the floor to shatter, to be lost forever, and the other is to go under the aforementioned "depressed".

Even if well down the list of desired serendipity, most of the sundered bowl ends up in the money portion of my stand up dust pan. Of course, with the non-organization here this pan has given---yes, it's fault---me a fair share of Hanna-Barbera whacks. It's stepped on nature is revealed in a split in the pan. Yes, time for a new one.

I keep forgetting. Such a plastic trait . . .

Another post out of the way.