I had a major cleaning of the room this past weekend. How cathartic. It’s so fresh and so clean, and so neat and well-put together. I love it. The old bed is going to be made every morning now, rather than subscribing to the 8th grade belief of why bother; the books and things are lined up in nice, pretty rows, the clothes now suspend from hangers (what a concept), instead of the weird system I had going, of which will remain a secret weird system. All things considered, I’m very content. The last phase of Project Clean-Up will be the heartwrenching task of deciding what shoes to keep and what shoes to give away to the thrift stores. Sigh. Tears may be shed. I love all my shoes, even the ones that kill my poor toes. We shall see. I don’t intend on being too sentimental, though. If I can trash college mementos and things of that nature, then shoes and other things can surely go.
It rained yesterday, it’s raining today. I won’t complain. Whatever. If they find me on the interstate, in the middle of a nice, long nervous breakdown, blame it on the rain.
Onwards and upwards…
I just ate, I believe, about six weeks worth of food. One should never, ever do that. I think I’m seeing colors.
So let’s say you have loads of candy sitting in your purse. Don’t go on and on about it. You never know if persons within earshot and in the vicinity attend support groups for candy lovers. Or whether a particular person has sworn off chocolate for the rest of their natural life. Or whether someone in the area is on a massive diet, and, upon hearing your candy-loving monologue, goes on some kind of eating spree throughout the tri-state area.
Yes, I have a specific reason for the diatribe above.
Yes, the diatribe is racked with symbolism.
Yes, it just happened, and I am severely annoyed.
Yes, still quite annoyed.
Yes, I will commence with getting over it.
Ah, time flies when you’re insanely busy and wracked with sinus pressure. Welcome back, Girley.
I received two new surprises yesterday and today. Yesterday, I was given a brand new plant! So nice, wasn’t it? His name is – wait for it – Freddie. Yes, my Freddie is a replacement for my old friend and colleague, Mr. Frederick, the sad-eyed receiver of either no saturation or far too much. And because of the statement I just made, I was given a command by Mama to bring Freddie home immediately to be raised under her watchful eye. So, to stop the likelihood of yet another death by these hands, Freddie is going home.
Today’s surprise was a bouquet of beaUtiful sunflowers. Purple and pink and yellow – just an assortment of prettiness and floral sunshine. Her name is Fleur, which is French for flower. I’ll do my best to keep her alive. My level best.
Oh, fatigue! Why do you come at 3:15?
Several years ago, I purchased a car that quickly manifested itself as a lemon. It was horrible. Nevertheless, I have come to terms. It seems, though, that I have a problem with purchasing lemon-y items. From scrunchies to hair moisturizer, from *Blockbuster DVDs to food–I experience 95% of the lemon.
And now, it seems that the GPS I recently bought to save me from further unplanned trips down the Interstate? Is a lemon! A good friend informed me that it wasn’t a good brand. Unreal. Just unreal. Here’s to you, Massachusetts. Because I will likely end up there one day, in an attempt to visit the local grocery store.
In other news, the weekend promises to be both balmy and wintery. We’ve really reached a terrible point when the weather is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, haven’t we? Sad but true. Sandals on Saturday, coat/umbrella on Sunday. I love the Springtime.
(* Bye, bye, Blockbuster. I am now a happy member of Netflix. Woo hoo!)
The sun is shining. One weather quack got it right. Wow. Pretty interesting. I’m very happy about this. I’m very happy!! I’m still moving to London, though, because of the accents and the boots. And the whole blue wall plan for my apartment in Notting Hill. Anywho. Welcome back (for a bit, anyway), Mr. Sun.
In other news, I’ve joined the masses and plunked down some change for a GPS to place inside my vehicle. And there are very valid reasons for this particular purchase. Here come the bullets:
- Just last week, I took the wrong turn off the highway and ended up on an unplanned trip toward Baltimore. BALTIMORE.
- My penchant for getting lost seems to be growing. It’s out of control. These are places I’ve been to a million times. But, so it goes, I get creative and decide to take a parkway and not a highway, and I end up closing in on another state. It’s insane.
- I’ve printed enough Yahoo and Google and Rand McNally maps to take down a considerable section of the rainforest. And those maps? Are never correct. (There’s always a U-turn in those directions. Why? Why?)
- My poor mother is just like me. Or, I’m just like her. Actually, she may be worse. As a result, she and I will be sharing the thing.
- Speaking of Moms, on the way to see a show one evening, we drove in circles while the performance center waited for us over a bridge we couldn’t find. To this day, I don’t understand how we were finally able to get to the show.
- After a friend of mine had to bail me out of another jam (“where AM I?!??!”), I was calmly instructed to purchase a GPS. I obeyed.
Hopefully, it’ll work. Knowing me, though, we’ll see.
Welcome back, Mr. Sun!
Forget clouds. There is now FOG consuming the atmosphere. Fog. Fog! Needless to say, I’m on the verge of a scream. On the bright side (all sarcasm intended), perhaps this dreary, dank weather is preparing me for my middle-aged move to London, when I finally tire of this Yankee living. I have a feeling that the Brit accents and a blue-walled apartment in Notting Hill (along with a pair of red boots) will make things all better.
The weather quacks said something about the fog “burning off” and it becoming a partly cloudy day. In other words, we’re about to get hail. Because they never know what they’re talking about. Some of them, in between mindless, humorless banter, seem to even believe that they control the weather. “I may give you guys some sun today.” If that’s control, then we’re all really in trouble.
Fed Up with Fog.