no small miracle: it's really "okay" to wash your whites and darks together. there is no worse thing that can happen if you do. no laundry police. i flew into the laundromat this morning with a mismatched load of whites and darks, and no!!! i didn't even take the time to see if everything was right-side-out. i just threw it all in the same load, forgot to even check the setting "colors" or "whites" or whatever the third choice is at the 'mat. i just shoved the five quarters in cursed my once-again-dead washer and flew back out the door.

going nowhere fast: which is exactly what it feels like because the speedometer on our car stopped working, even though the car is just a year old. it can't go to the doctor until monday for it's "still under warranty" triage and possible procedures. i think it's the speedometer sensor somewhere in the rear of the vehicle which is faulty or messed up or has fallen off in the car wash! ... near as i can tell because i am not an auto mechanic and only play like one on the internet before i call the dealer so i don't sound like a pretty girl who doesn't know what's wrong with her car. without the speedometer, i can only judge my speed and so it feels like i'm going nowhere fast and every car out there is a cop with his radar geared right up my arsh!

other gross misdeamenors that our mothers and grandmothers tell is are deadly:
-last night i slept with wet hair. i did not come down with pneumonia or soggy-pillow-itis bronchitis, but i had a mop this morning that was twice as unruly as usual. hair everywhere, cowlick and curl city. bozo-the-clownish longly-locks!
-i'm still wearing my pajamas and it's way past morning. of course they are the pa and grandpa walton type onsie-long-johnny-thingy-ma-jiggies and my jeans fit right over them ... so who the hell would know the difference?!?!?
-i had twinkies for breakfast!
**okay, in actuality, my grandmother's most oft reminded rules of thumb were "never leave the cupboard doors open," and "don't go down the wooden stairwell in stocking feet." i follow these rules religiously as it only takes once to get the corner edge of a cupboard door lodged in your forehead, or a flight on your back down a set of wooden stairs, to realize the true worth of these warnings. my mother, on the other hand, had many other fine bits of advice, such as, "knock it off or i'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with the bloody stump." this would explain why i walk around a lot with my hands in my pockets! and why i think i'm going to get nailed to a tree if i mix the whites and the darks, speed down city streets, sleep with wet hair, run around in pajames and eat twinkies for breakfast!

oligoastrocytoma: i don't have one, but one of my patient's does, and well (even considering all of the above and any other such madness), i'm having a pretty good day!