Malkmus is on the radio. Scooby breathes on my feet. The dryer whirls its muffled tune.
I stare. Off to the dreamland.
Or perhaps, more accurately, it is the in-between land; in-between my beautiful objective reality, and my beautiful- yet imagined at this point- and thus subjective, beautiful future with the critter bug.
It will be beautiful. And so, here, amidst this in-between land, grubby rugrats eat dirt, or the spiders behind the toilet. Nostalgically, I watch them, smiling.
Here, I see dance parties as an inside joke. We bounce atop the bed, and shake our goofy shoulders. Giggles, and smashed faces.
Pancakes. Syrup. More please.