well, I just woke up, so quit yelling!

you KNOW I get you. I once told T that he didn't have to worry about me killing myself that weekend because my bathtub was too crusty to do it in. he didn't see the poetry in that for some reason, I thought it was beautiful. and no I don't think you're making this up. your kitchen descriptions are too accurate!

so just wondering, do you too have kitchen childhood traumas? I was never welcome in my mother's kitchen, was badly injured, and ever after was made to feel the fool. but we suffered, if that's the right word for wasted extravagance, thru 3 ruined rubbery rib roasts before my idiot family would listen to me and let me crank up the heat on the oven and COOK rather than STEAM the holiday dinner. Yet i'm always the wrong stupid pathetic one. I'm Rudolph, I save xmas, and they STILL won't let me play in their reindeer games! WTF??? No wonder I was inconsolable when I first learned that song from my dad. Wow. Anyway.

So THAT'S why MY kitchen isn't MINE. It's supposed to be the heart of a home. A heart is something you take with you. In olden times, wouldn't a new family have taken a coal to start their own cave? It's so hard to start a kitchen from the cold every morning. That's why they make those alarm clock Mr Coffees. Well, I don't know if I helped you figure out what's wrong with YOUR kitchen, but you helped me with mine. I have some pictures of a very good friend i've been planning to hang in it, maybe I should do that sooner rather than later. p.s. you do have a kitchen stool and a telly by the sink, right? And don't expect to do it all in one day. I NEVER do!