So I'm in the bathroom, brushing out my hair, the water running gently in the sink (I have to wet the brush as I brush my hair or my hair fluffs and becomes whispy hedge hair) and the bathroom (which I keep trying to type as bathrrom) door is shut. In onto the tile floor, from the crack under the door, comes a pale blue cat toy mousie, followed by a pale yellow paw gesturing in supplication. Now Wheaten has sent toy mousies skittering into the bathroom before, and I in my amusement have opened the door to let him in, and it occurs to me to wonder what Wheaten is thinking. Does he feel he needs to bribe me, in order to gain entrance? Does he think it's magic, that if he shoves a mousie into the door's maw, it will occasionally open? What cat portal god is Wheaten appeasing, I wonder?

I feel a little like I'm making my own offerings to the gods. I've been sending out poems in the hopes that some will be accepted (and have had good luck) and I will have The Modern Art Cave to advertise and a little chapbook for Valentine's Day (or any day, really) that Tim and I will have poems in to sell, all in the hopes that I will be delivered from needing to do things in my life I am not nearly so fond of in order to make a living. I know it is nearly impossible to make a living as a writer, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to keep trying--this is, after all, the point, isn't it? I have to believe that, eventually, the door will open.