A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song. ~Maya Angelou

A cup of hot Chai, freshly showered, lazing about in my thick, red Victoria Secrets' robe.

Reading a humorous transcript of a press confrence detailing the documentation "proving" Prez. Dubya's service in '72 & '73.

Once I'm done here, I will straighten my place. It seems to me that by doing so, I am repairing parts of my soul.

It sounds so un-PC, but cleaning or having a clean house means I must have my shit together. I identify with it, perhaps too much. Maybe I was brainwashed by my mother and she from her mother... or perhaps I'm falling for the nefarious product-driven hype: the insistance I need to use the Swiffer Wet Jet to be happy.

Or maybe I just like having things where they belong. Having clean clothes to pick from and a fresh smelling bed to climb into...