Was it a bad day, or a terrible day?

Actually, it started out as a pretty good day. All night, I woke up pretty much every hour, on the hour, but when I did, I kept hearing "Sisters of Mercy" by Leonard Cohen in my head. Which improved things, funnily enough. When I woke up for good, I felt only slightly shredded. I worked on my courses for awhile, went to a meeting where we both got things done and laughed. I came home and there were two dogs who were so damn happy to see me and who also wanted to share my leftover Thai food for lunch. My dad dropped by to bring me a cd with family reunion photos and the latest draft of a poem he's writing about one of our ancestors. Then, it seemed like a good time for a nap.

I was awakened by a knock at the door. On my porch stood a young man in a blue uniform. Postal worker with a package? or police officer? Dear reader, it was a police officer, come to deliver this news: the meadow (aka our front lawn) is illegal. "That wouldn't be considered xeriscaping," he said, not unkindly, when I ventured a tentative not-even-a-real-argument that we might be, sort of, xeriscaping. He gave me the phone number of the city office that could tell me what counts as xeriscaping in West Jordan, and we have fourteen days to get things taken care of. If we do, the case will be closed.

We're a case. An open case of illegal lawn activity.

Plus, my computer screen just informed me that I had made a "bad request." Bad request! Also, I'm trying not to contemplate which of our neighbors ratted us out to the cops.