At risk of same old, same old, all I've got this morning, Monday-style, is a desire to climb in a car with my friend Christy Shake of Calvin's Story and if not fly over the desert to oblivion, then over the sea to Bora Bora and never come back. There's nothing wrong in particular same old, same old, and visions of Bora Bora never 'scape my mind. There's a song in there somewhere, but I think Bob Dylan already wrote it. But these visions ... they make it all seem so cruel.
I think I've included enough cultural references in three sentences; I have oodles of laundry to do and children in foster care to tend. Reader, what are you up to this Monday morning?
