I am [see above]. Thanks, OGIC!
I want spring to be like this year's, always.
I wish there were 48 hours to each day.
I hate having to shoot the look of the death ray at people who talk during performances.
I love these 50 things.
I miss holding a sleeping infant snuggled against the crook of my neck.
I fear heights and speed, especially when combined.
I hear the hard drive of this laptop revving up for no apparent reason. Uh-oh.
I wonder when, oh when, Audrey will meet her overdue end on 24.
I regret letting the lisianthus seedlings dry out (Mistah Eustoma, he dead).
I am not voluble.
I dance whenever asked, and sometimes even when not.
I sing in the pews at church, and otherwise only in my head (why, you're most welcome).
I cry so seldom that my children ask me, "Mom, have you ever cried?" Until they saw me turn into a soggy mess watching the Doctor Who episode "Father's Day". Cried at the show, cried at the rerun, cried at the recap.
I am not always as punctual as I mean to be.
I make with my hands (or, made with my hands) fingerless shiny red gloves for my first-grader to wear while she dances to "Supergirl" .
I write slowly and with undue anxiety.
I confuse David Anthony Higgins on Malcolm in the Middle with Michael Badalucco on The Practice.
I need black coffee, dark chocolate, chili peppers and garlic.
I should fold the laundry.
I start Beethoven's Op. 27 No. 1 (piano sonata no. 13) this week.
I finish dessert, always.
I tag anyone who wants to play...