The yearly countdown for "can I make it to October without turning on the heat?" has begun.

It's too late for breakfast but too early for lunch and I am hungry now. I am throwing decorum to the wind and going all helter skelter on mealtimes today.

I am not a big believer in the whole theory about different timelines. I do find the physicist Lee Smolin's Principle of Precedence to be pretty plausible to explain why we remember things differently than they appear now - along with a healthy understanding of how fallible memory really can be. However, something really odd happened today. I was looking at my natal chart and had always put down 1:50 PM as my time of birth. Today, though, I started having doubts about the time being correct. I decided to go check my birth certificate. By the time I got to my office, I decided that I didn't want to dig through the massive personal file I have if I didn't have to, so I thought - well, I will check my baby book because I know right where that is. I haven't looked at it in years because only the first few pages had been filled out. It always amused me as I figured my mom was just over it by the time she got to me, so she didn't bother. I figured, what the heck, she might have filled in the birth stuff because that would have been at the beginning when enthusiasm was high, so if it were in there, it would be in those first couple of filled out pages. So I grabbed it and started looking through to find the entry. And then kept flipping. I though - there were a few more pages than I remembered. And I kept flipping. On and on. The first 5 years of my life documented. Meticulously. All the milestones. and the pictures! Birthdays, Christmases, random summer days. Then there were receipts for vaccinations, locks of hair and so much more. (Also, I would just like to point out for the record that I was ahead of the average development wise since the very beginning). You could have knocked me over with a feather. The reason I never looked at it was because I knew there was so very little in there, so why bother? But there it all was. Even more puzzling was all the pictures of me that I have never seen before. Surely I would have looked at the pictures when I brought the book home from one of the many great migrations of stuff from her house to mine.

Avast, mateys! This be International Talk Like a Pirate day! Any of ye that won't raise your mug o grog smartly to meet mine be slimy bilge sucking blaggards wanting a keelhauling! For me hearties that will splice the mainbrace with this salty dog - may yer doubloons be many, yer rum be strong and yer hornpipe saucy! Arrrrrrrrr!

Puck officially has the eating schedule of a hobbit. Which he reminds me of very loudly with his ugly voice. That voice is not magickal.