"Flowers Cry in the Morning"

• Wow. Times flies. I've been busy nonstop for the last few days, and I've been remiss in keeping up with y'all, but now I'm here to make up for it. It's late. The family is in bed, and there's no one here to supervise me. I believe I'll borrow Tree's "stream-of-consciousness" blogging. Here goes:
• I hate protesters. The obnoxious kind. I hate their chanting and yelling and cute little rhyming slogans that wouldn't withstand a ounce of logical scrutiny and their over-the-top emotionalism and downright intimidation. I don't care what their results are.
• Although there is no science to back this up that I'm aware of, I remain convinced that putting hands on a steering wheel causes a serious rotting of the brain cells. Examples are too numerous to mention.
• My daughter, Laura, likes to sing, and she'll just sing out any combination of words that come to mind. Yesterday morning, she suddenly sang out, "flowers cry in the morning." She's a singer and a poet!
• Today, I was in the grocery store, and got stuck behind "can't make up her mind woman." They're just jugs of milk, lady, pick one. Then I had the thought that maybe people like that have to choose carefully, because the asshole she's married to might beat the shit out of her if she makes the wrong choice. Kind of morbid, I know, but I still wonder.
• Well, I'm up way too late. I'll see all of you on my rounds.