Katie needs her groove back

Instead of a lucid narrative, (have I have ever written a lucid narrative?) you will now be subject to my incoherent ramblings. It's that bad around here folks.

This very morning, I stubbed my toes four separate times. Same toes, on the same chair. Did I mention...


four. separate. times. 

In looking up the meaning of  "Groove" this is what I found.
The transitive verb tense of groove is:

    *To perfect by repeated practice

I think I am grooving in the toe stubbing department.



The intransitive verb tense of groove is:
    *To enjoy oneself  intensely
    *To interact harmoniously

I think NOT grooving in the intransitive tense.

All sorts of words come to mind when I think of describing my state of being, non of which include:  "interact harmoniously or enjoy oneself intensely ".   Maudlin may be a good word.  Perhaps, stoic.  I am afraid of seeming a kvetch.  I am teetering on the edge of malevolent. I am hard-bitten.


I feel... blah. Bleck. Yuck.  I am groove-less.




I have lost my groove. And don't know where to find it.




Maybe I lost it on one of the 42 trips I made to town in the last two weeks. I think I lost it at the Gas Station where I had to pay for fuel with: my right arm, my first born child and my will to live. I might have possibly left it in the E.R. where I took Fidget to get 10 stitches in her eyebrow.  Perhaps I left it at The WalMart.  Maybe I left it at the Doctor's office when I took Fidget in for a Tetanus shot.   Or, I could have forgotten it at the Doctor's office when I took Fidget to get 10 stitches removed from her eyebrow.  It could be some where in the Dollar Store. One of the kids might have swept it up while cleaning house for Mother's Day.  I could have dropped it into one of the four giant vats of potato salad I whipped up for our Mother's Day/Birthday party.  It could have fallen into the compost pile where I was dumping arm-loads of weeds I pulled from the garden beds. Conceivably, it might be on the floor of the OB/GYN's office along with my dignity.  I could have dropped it at the dentist's office when I took the Mr. in to get a tooth pulled. It's probably lost in the laundry room.  Reader, don't think me quixotic; maybe, possibly, the dog ate it.


Hogwash, horse-feathers, POPPYCOCK!  My groove has got to be around here somewhere!



Blah.


Katie needs her groove back. You haven't seen it laying around anywhere, have ya?