Ok, I'm back. Sunday, April 1 was an odd day, but a good one.
I woke up in the morning, ate a bowl of cereal as I farted about the 'net, and then went back to bed and slept for about 4 more hours. To put it mildly, I'm loving the crap out of not getting up at 6am on Sunday to go to class. Yippee.
So I got up and went to Target that afternoon. I'm trying to remember when I crossed over from always spending at least $100 when I went in there to always spending over $200. Of course, we're not counting my returns. My shopping philosophy is that it's better to regret something you have bought than to regret something you didn't buy. That's why the shopping goddesses provide us with a 30 day exchange/refund policy. HollyB tells me somewhere in Texas there's a Ferragamo outlet, and threatens to take me there: be still my heart! The upside of the Ferragamo outlet is it will be much too far away for a return/exchange trip to be practical. NOT that I'm often accused of being practical.
By the way, Speak For Yourself, the superb cd from Imogen Heap, is only $9.99 at Target. Grab yer bonnet and run out and get one. You'll love it.
I came home and got to work cleaning the dining table off. Right by the back door, it's become the repository for schoolbooks, receipts, junk mail and the flotsam and jetsam that seems ever wafting in my wake. Things like the finger-shaped pen you can pull and it makes 5 different farting noises - I can never resist buying crap like that.
I popped in the Lily Allen cd I bought today and listened to her hard-edged effervescent reggae-tinged pop whilst cleaning. I always find new music is the best inspiration for me to clean. I like listening to stuff I know and love while I'm goofing off, but I'm a kinesthetic learner and need to be doing two things at once to focus my mind. I know, that makes no sense, but it explains a lot, trust me. Anyway, I feel almost warm and fuzzy to think back to last fall when I was cleaning and listening to Imogen Heap for the first time.
Part of the crap on the table is jewelry-making detritus: odd beads, charms, a little anvil and dapping blocks and dies. I put all these in a laundry basket to cart to my studio. I made a box for garbage, and a separate box for address labels and junk mail that needed to be shredded. Before I began cleaning, I clipped a pedometer onto my jeans. 2585 steps later, I've accomplished my mission. Yay!
I took the box of labels outside and stuck a little log in the chimenea with a firestarter. Once the flames were going, I started putting in the little slips of paper, and watched them burn. I find this task endlessly hypnotic. I love when several pages have burned together and their leavings lift gently in the waves of heat, looking like wrinkled hankies of fine black linen, little firery worms devouring their edges. I could watch that all night.
My April first was worry-free. Then again, I've never been the prankster sort, and I take a dim view of most practical jokes. I suppose that's one way it's best not to be thought of as practical.
Have a great week.