Tisk Tisk This Task

Does anybody out there know Ethan Allen? Are any of you... Ethan? Allen? See, I ordered a bed from you in January. And it's. not. here. It's not even down the street stuck in traffic, hitting light after red light. I didn't get a call saying it'd be late for the party. And I'm beginning to think I've been stood up. I don't handle rejection well, okay? It's just rude. Ethan? This is rude. I've got all sorts of ideas circling in my head and I'm just kind of pent up up there until I get the bed and see what it's like; do I even want to return the dang thing; and where does it look best in the room?

Hang on - my phone's ringing. It's not Ethan. In case you wondered.

Okay, I'm back. But so anyway... with this springy weather, I'm just starting to get an itch to project. Not vomit, but maybe. Project as in the act of projecting. Not an image on a pull-down screen. Project as in beginning a task by using the ideas in my head for an end product - which is - a bedroom with a new bed.

Wordy enough? It's because I can't think of much else to write about right now. And I have a guy doing the "draw it out" motion in my head - ya know - that guy - at the edge of a television studio-set... motioning to the show host to keep it going - elaborate. It goes something like putting your hands together and drawing them apart in a slowish motion as if you've got pulled-taffy strung between your fingers, and you're doing the aerating - or whatever it is that makes it turn sorta cloudy and soft. And he's got a head-set with a microphone sort of like Madonna, but clunkier like a head football coach.

And now that guy's doing the "wrap it up" motion.