Ha.

The title is actually meant to be enthusiastic, but I resist exclamation points unless it's absolutely necessary! See what it does to you? You think you know where the writer is taking you and then that! Do you run? Scream? Hide? I'm not sure myself; which is why I leave them alone on the keyboard. It's a dangerous area.

So, yea, it's been less than six months this time my friend(s). (God let there be at least one!) Okay, I will stop. Given that only one day has passed, there must be something terribly exciting right? No. Nothing. It's just that I had this dream ...

I apologize to Brad Pitt, because like Brittany, I wish he could be left alone, but I wasn't the chaser in this dream. I wasn't the stalker. It was not me. It was Brad. Now I could lead you off into this fantastic meandering little path of wonder and eager curiosity but I'm not going to do that. I'm straighter than that. It was just a kissing dream. Just? No, not just - it was a fabulous kissing dream. (Today seems to be the day of "F word" writing for me; the biggie will not be used here.)

I've got to make some confessions. One's a statement actually: I don't have a thing for Brad Pitt. Of course, he's cute; worldly; beautiful; rich - none of this matters. I don't have daily thoughts of Brad Pitt. See? I don't even call him by his first name; that's proof! Brad came to me last night - it was not the other way around.

So, that confession. I love kissing. Love. It. I want to marry it. I want to eat it. And ... apparently, so did Brad. Pitt. I wanted more and he just kept on giving it. It was effing delicious. (Technically, effing is not an "F word.") But he stopped and put his shoes on, and I clung to his jeans and tried to keep him in that room, but he left. He was smiling though and I'm pretty certain it means something. I'll tell you what it meant: the kiss has left the frigging building.

I'm brought to reality, as I have to wake up eventually. I tried to stay in bed once all day and sleep but I can't do it. Reality is that my husband and I peck. Three years of marriage and we peck. When I was young I pecked only because I was pissed. Now it's my hello, goodbye and be safe at work. How do we start over? I don't know. I love kissing. I want to marry it.

Oceanside, California

I'm bad. Six months is a really long time. I now understand why it feels like life is racing past me - it's because I can't get much accomplished in less than six months. Six months is my whole life, divided by two. That's crazy.

Speaking of crazy ... wait, never mind. So my grandchild hasn't been born yet. We moved to California and don't have our own house yet. I haven't won the lottery - yet, and ... someone should take this computer away from me.

For what it's worth (which isn't much of anything at all) I'm going to publish and leave and will try really hard to not let half of my life pass by before writing again, because the brain isn't ... later