The Imperial March begins to play on my phone… I wake up with Twitches in my bed, an Enigma reminding me that I do have to get up, and an insane urge to down a pot of coffee like a frat boy. We get out of my bed, stumble down the stairs, yell at Emo Boy to get his butt up, and start the morning with smiles, rainbows and a sing-along.  Heh. During the process of getting breakfast together, injecting caffeine into my veins, and monitoring the time-cereal continuum, I check the weather, my e-mail,... 

In recent months, it has come to light that I’m one busy, badass mother… um… yeah. No, seriously, I’m swamped, all the time. I love it, I hate it, but its the truth and I’m just kind of at the point where I am no longer too proud to ask for help. The problem? I don’t actually have enough income to pay someone on a regular basis to take some of the load off. I need an intern. I want an intern. I deserve an intern! I’m a fountain of knowledge, with so much... 

You can ask around, and most people will tell you that at one point or another, I have totally done something bitchtastic. Probably to that person, but, whatever. Bygones! I even have a jacket that proclaims my bitchitude, courtesy of my mama. Its a well known fact that when you have apparel with words on it, you are officially an important member of that word club. Look it up. But, first, you must all read about me… because, sometimes, blogging incessantly about myself just isn’t enough.... 

I have a painful blood blister on my finger. A man was wearing spandex overalls and lounging provocatively within my direct line of sight at Sbux. My cat just brought me a dead cardinal. There is a huge, huge correlation between drums and relationships, at least in my research on the Webs today. Also, there are a lot of lonely people asking for random love advice that I kind of want to start answering. Not that I have a fucking clue about relationships. Or… do I?  

I think it was back in fifth grade that I read Jacob, Have I Loved, and was immediately gripped by the attention the author paid to the symbolism and beauty of hands. I can remember reading and stopping to really look at my hands, which were pretty much as they are now, just hands. But, as the book proclaims, hands are never “just hands.” Hands are awesome. That book began my weird obsession with hands. Its actually not one of those things I really divulge, not out of shame or weirdness,...