"A weak point in the blade when fencing."
That's what foible is. I just looked it up for what was probably the thirteenth time. I think it matches life nicely.
I'm sitting at my computer eating off-brand fig newtons with the picture of a red-bearded creep on the package, glancing every so often at the tv. David Letterman is petting a snow leopard while some brownish man with deep lines in his face stutters in explanation. Not unusual.
Tonight I feel small. Not because of snow leopards or "Daddy Ray" and his cheap food wrapped in shiny plastic. Just because I am.
I missed lobby duty tonight--and I absolutely hate missing things. Then I stood in the kitchen and talked to dad about messing up--to which he said, "Someday you'll get used to it."
I think he's probably right.
