Register to vote? If they were handing out beer I could single handedly change the course of American history.

This ACORN thing is seriously getting out of hand, if you look into the tentacular web that reaches deep into the economy and the current political scene, but I think I've spent all my blog capital on those subjects this week. Next week, I promise, it's back to cute stories about the Little Ditchman, the wonder of nature, the magic of cinema, and amusing anecdotes about aluminum. Preview: dumb dolphins.

Thanks for sticking with me. I remembered what woke me up so early yesterday: I was having a dream where everyone would JUST NOT SHUT UP. They were all talking so loud I couldn't sleep, so I got up and made coffee. Last night I crashed hard about a half hour before normal to make up for it. I woke at 5 AM this morning, too, and had to use the terlet, but was afraid to, so I kept sleeping until sunup.

WHY I WAS AFRAID: I changed the fluorescent bulbs in there. I know, I know, I can be a real stubborn bastage. All those fluorescent tubes burned out a year ago but I was determined to remodel the bathroom and replace them with the soothing light of incancesdents so I steadfastly refused to change them out. Yesterday I gave in, because I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take the dark flickering that was nearly sending me into a seizure every time I got in the shower. I must've gotten used to the seizures, because now you flick the light on in the middle of the night and it's like opening that door in Poltergeist, remember? The brilliance of a thousand suns coming out of the closet that was a gateway to the astral plane? Yeah. Like that. Or like the light coming out the sky in Close Encounters of the Third Kind when the aliens arrive. Yeah, like that. Anyway, Mrs. Ditchman went in there at about two AM and I heard her flick the switch and light shot out through the cracks around the door and I heard her anguished groan as the sheer intensity of the light knocked her into the wall. My god, it's full of stars.

We hate our bathroom. Unfortunately, it's not going to get remodeled any time soon. As a lesson, when it says "Kitchen/Bath Daylight" on the packaging, they're not kidding.

I've had a tiring week, and there's more awaiting me today, so if you sensed bitterness and frustration in this week's posts, you sensed correctly. I apologize. My bleeding fingers hurt. I'm sunburned. I'm tired of bending over all day. And I come home and my wife complains about the same things. While I was feeding the cat the other day I made the mistake of mentioning that it seems like I spend all my time at home taking out the trash, changing out the Sparklett's bottles, and feeding the animals -and then I looked over at Mrs. Ditchman who was standing there silently with a seething look of contempt. Then I leaned over and placed the capped can of cat food in front of animal #1 and the dish of newly scooped cat food into the fridge. "Oh my Lord, what have I done?" I muttered to myself. We had a good laugh. We're losing it. (The cat, incidentally, did not find it amusing.)

In spite of it all, do you trust me? Do this: go to iTunes and plop down 99 cents for the song "Till You're Gone" by the Gabe Dixon Band and then when you're done with work today, get in the car and turn the volume all the way up and play it. That'll be the start of your great weekend.



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