You're the hemp in my...

Just so you know? It's two in the afternoon.

And I spent the day- so far- in bed. Snuggled beneath a Pendleton blanket, cruising the information highway on Steve's laptop. Nibbling pieces of smoked salmon. Approving Spicy Comments. Paying bills. Ordering lavender pillows stuffed with rice or buckwheat [not to eat, Darling, to heat- in the microwave- till toasty and warm and soothing; therapy for this sleep-deprived blogger's crooked neck and quirky tummy still not right from her sojourn into public dining in Los Angeles].

In light of a certain individual's recent ranting (and her pondering whether to throw in the towel and head for the nearest smoke shop- conveniently located next to Saints and Sinners) this post will be a simple thank you to Certain Readers- you know who you are- for the suggestion of hemp.

Hemp, as in milk.

Hemp, as in, You're the hemp in my mate... (that's MAH-tay for those of you not familiar with Viggo's preferred caffeine source).

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