Having a perfect Sunday

I'll tell you how it all went down. First I got up and walked the dog and fed the cats. (Someone else's, not mine.) This was okay because the dog accomplished the appropriate tasks in a very reasonable amount of time. Sometimes we walk up and down the median with her sniffing everything while I'm going, "PLEASE POOP. PLEASE POOP. IT IS SO HOT OUTSIDE. PLEASE POOP." No such problems today.

Then I got home, and I was going to watch Gilmore Girls, but then I remembered that I'm supposed to be practicing for when I become a full-time freelance writer (no remarks from the peanut gallery necessary on this point), so I decided I'd try out my plan for being a full-time freelance writer, which involves eating peaches and reading in the morning, and writing all afternoon. The peaches part was tricky. The dog thought she deserved some peaches, maybe because of how well she had performed her tasks on the morning walk. She kept coming as close to me as she could and looking pointedly at the peaches, and then after I had rapidly eaten them all up, she wanted to come sniff my mouth. And after the peaches were gone, and I was reading the totally disappointing Children of Men, she still wanted to come and be all up in my business, because she thought there were still peaches, and obviously because she didn't realize that if there had been peaches, I WOULD NOT have given them to a dog. Give peaches to a dog. This is that thing about casting pearls before swine. No indeed.

And now the dog has fallen asleep in a blanket, and I am writing, and listening to Radio Paradise. I love me some Radio Paradise. It is buffering now, and not playing, but I tell myself this is just part of the starving artist experience - slow-buffering free online radio.