Scratchy, Scratching, Scratched

Did you know it’s the 182nd day of the year and that 183 days remain? While researching cool July 1st things to share with you, (like it being “Creative Ice Cream Flavor Day”) I stumbled on the fact that at midnight it’s smack dab in the middle of the year.

Speaking of time, I’m behind on paying my quarterly taxes.

And I’m bad with segues.

Our chicken sleeps in a plastic tote with straw, a bowl of water, and food.

But not tonight.

It’s roosted on a post of the tower Evelyn stands on near the island in the kitchen. I knew Dave would not be a fan, and he’s not. But I’m a scientist, and scientists need to understand what their free-roaming chickens do at night.

Speaking of, do you know how to sex a chicken?

My body is at the final stage of swimmer’s itch, which is similar to a bountiful supply of mosquito bites. I know this because the bumps are smaller, have hard pus-like tips, and best of all I no longer wake up at 1, 2, 3, and 4 am with nails whittling away at my thighs, back, neck, arms, and chest.

I apologized to my cousin today too – the one I mentioned last week in a post – when walking around with Evelyn at the Taste of Tacoma. I then listened to the trouble she’s having with her wedding invitations, and the decision she made not to allow children at the event. Needless to say, I appreciated the heartfelt empathy she doled out.

Now, if you don’t mind, I need to itch a bit before bed. Sure, I’ll brush my teeth, plug my devices in to charge, and put on pajamas. But itching, now that’s where it’s at.

Love, Jaclynn

PS. Image is of a far too big calzone. Hands for scale. Bonus material: Cousin’s hand shows engagement ring.

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