The sky must be falling

Or else, there is a wolf someone missed crying. Or perhaps, I walked towards the wrong light.

All I know, is that this strange, weird, completely psychotic burst of cleaning energy I had this evening is beyond the pail (or is it pale? Or is there a completely differently spelled, uh, pail.)

I was being my normal lazy self. I took myself up on my offer and read The Year My Life Went Down The Loo, by Katie Maxwell (aka Katie MacAlister, aka KatieMac, aka the Monday Dishy Guy finder wonder, aka one of the most hilarious authors ever.)

I'm not quite sure how I feel about the book yet. I find it hilariously wonderful, but she seems so naive that it bugs me sometimes. I fondly remember sixteen, and my life was not nearly exciting in the guy department. And she keeps slaming all the history junk in England. But cute and entertaining. It is afterall, a YA novel.

But that is WAY off topic.

As I was saying, I was feeding my reading habit when all of a sudden, I get out of bed, turn on the "telly" (did I mention the book's set in England?) (Back with the bad puns!!!) to GAC and started CLEANING!!!

Did you read that?

Me.

Cleaning.

Our room.

I mean, It was mostly my mess. But still. Me. And my room. It boggles the mind. I didn't even pause when Tosh and Anna came home to see me frantically (and fanatically) cleaning off the coffee table. I'm sure they were wondering what sickness I had contracted, what ghoulish otherwordly thingy invaded my body, or else was thinking I was snorting the fuzz lining my coat pockets.

Personally, I think an alien invaded my brain. The reality prolly is a cross between all of those and the haltage of the cloggers.