This morning was one of those mornings that could launch a thousand fantasies. As Lucille screamed from the bathtub that I wasn’t listening to her, Eliza coughed and sneezed in her own little window of misery. Eliza has a cold. I’m not sure what’s going on with Lucille.
Well, I suppose I have a clue. She and I have been tangled in the delicate dance of power struggle for a while now. Instead of moving together gracefully, we are stumbling over each other’s toes and, in some cases, tripping each other on purpose.