Who needs a television?

When the Hollywood writers were on strike they must have spent some time writing storylines for my life, because I swear I'm living a TV show.

First of all, my job is like an after-school TV special. High school kids are naturally drama magnets. I had some funny stories for you, but they were all trumped by the sober news that the school staff received on Monday, our last day before summer vacation. Over the weekend, one of our freshmen, a sophomore this fall was killed. It involved a gun and a fight. It made me think of those kids that stopped coming to school for the last weeks of the semester. Where did they end up? Especially Nicole. Her grades were getting so much better and then she stopped attending class. Where is she?

My social life is an episode of Friends. Like one of the season finales. It's awful. I can give you details off-line.

My household reminds me of a Looney Tunes cartoon. I have a mouse in my kitchen, named Floyd. (Stupid dangling participle - the mouse is named Floyd, not the kitchen.) Floyd taunts me. He runs out into the middle of the room when I'm there. He doesn't hide. He feigns fear. I set a trap for him, but it never springs. I set it out. I go for a run. I return in an hour. The peanut butter is gone, but the trap is still set. I have done this three times, and yet Floyd still runs amok like a roadrunner. Perhaps I need a bigger anvil.