Ever look at something so often you don't see it anymore?

And then one day it catches your eye, as though for the first time, and you think, "What the hell is that?"

For me, growing up, it was the jar of Metamucil on the windowsill. There was one at my Grandparents' house, one at my Aunt's, one at my parents'; It was just a given.

But Lo, one day the jar of Metamucil speaks, and it says, "This family has a multigenerational preoccupation with regularity."

Or maybe not. Maybe nobody drinks it, and it's just a fear of irregularity that provides place of prominence to the Metamucil.

My kitchen windowsill caught my eye today. I think it's trying to say something to me, but I can't think what.



Fish food? We haven't had fish in a year. And that weird little IU guy. No one in our family has gone to IU. Who put him there? The Shellac, oddly enough, makes sense. It's my husband's--but he doesn't drink it--so there's no reason for it to be in the kitchen.

I don't know. I think the kitchen window might be saying, "Clean me."