  I have a pretty major announcement to make today. Don't worry -- it's happy news, and as I prepare to embark on a lifetime commitment with the one I love, I want to share my happiness with you . I've decided to get married. To wine. What? Seriously.
Every element of a love song -- the I love yous, the I can't live without yous, the you make my life completes and the wind beneath my wingses -- is how I feel about wine, and I've never felt it more profoundly than I do today. It's time for declare my enduring love for wine in front of God and the world. In other news, I need a nap that lasts until Christmasof 2005. Because zzzz. I seem to have descended into a vicious circle wherein I don't get enough sleep because I have so much to do, so I lie awake worrying about how much I have to do, and about not sleeping enough, and about how I'll never get it all done when I feel so tired, and on and on it goes. Eventually, I get sleepy, and then, just as I prepare to disembark from the train to the Land of Nodthe the dogs..
So, for some time, I lie awake, serenaded by the melodious sounds of bored panting and chewing, and I worry, and I wonder about things. I wonder why Jinx is chewing on on my sock. I wonder why I bother wondering about that, since Jinx will eat and/or play with anything that isn't nailed down, will eat and/or play with most nailed-down items as well, hates me, is crazy, is evil, is crazy-evil, and owes me ten socks. I wonder if it's true what they say about germs on feet. I wonder if I can catch a cold if Jinx gnaws on my sock and then drinks out of my wine glass. I wonder if the four year old sock I found (destroyed) the other day has germs on it from 1999.
What if I get polio from that sock? Or tuberculosis? Or scurvy? I wonder if I should get up and wash my hands, although it's too late anyway and I obviously already have yellow fever and I shouldn't go to sleep at all since I'll wake up dead. I wonder where the expression "wake up dead" came from. I wonder if that "reeeee!
ree ree! " noise it makes counts as yipping, or as squealing. One forty-oneone forty-twoone for-- shit, did I skip one thirty-nine? I think I skipped one thirty-nine. Do I count a howl as three yips or what? And how can nobody have stuffed a potato down that little fuckwad's throat by now?
Shut UP, Yipsey Russell! You made me lose count! Wait. Oh. Crap, I've gone insane. Two twelvetwo thirteentwo fourteentwo fifteenI'm going to kill myselftwo seventeenoh, thank God.
Aaaaand jinxed it. Nice one, Bunting. Crazy and stupid. Great. Two eighteentwo nineteentwo twentytwoahhhh. Hello, sleep.
(FYI: all of the dogs are being silent right now. i'm just feeling silly. ) 
