Dear Lord I wish I was asleep right now. What's a girl supposed to do at 11:30 at night when what she really wants to do is sleep and what she should be doing is taking advantage of her wakefulness by working on any of the many many projects she's halfway through....? Blog. That's what she's supposed to do. Because sleep will come when it comes and working on a project will just distract from that.
Seriously. When writing (or whatever) I'll even forget to eat. So, since sleep comes first I'll just randomly blog.
Had a follow up dr. appointment today. So far, so good. Yippie! I'm so ready to be well. And I'm so ready to stop driving to that damn hospital. I'm getting vertigo from heading so far north so often.
I went to IKEA yesterday. With a client. It was *so* fun I can't wait to go back. Seriously. We're doing this condo from the sheetrock out and so we went to get a bid for the kitchen. Yeah. You can get a reasonably priced well made kitchen from IKEA. When the time comes you should look into it. Unless you're loaded and your kitchen is huge. Then go custom. But if you're building a kitchen in a closet, IKEA is for you.
I'm going to be 30 in exactly 4 months. I'm viewing it much the way I viewed the millennium turnover: trepidatious anticipation. It's not earth-shattering. We won't suddenly run out of water or energy. Nothing's going to blow up. But there will be a subtle shift. I'm inching towards middle age.
And perhaps because of this I've been very conscious lately of the way in which people show their age. For example: movie stars, tv stars, MILFs - they all age incredibly well. They look young and vital much longer than the average person. On the other hand, crazy painter lady who is a recovering alcoholic (apparently, you're always recovering even when you need all of your fingers and some of your toes to count your years of sobriety) and a chain smoker (how do I find them...?) and when she said that she's 45 I was glad I was watching the road and some guy cut me off right as she said it because my expression was not flattering. It was surprise because I pegged her a good ten years older.
Let's just say I flossed twice instead of once and I haven't set foot in the elevator all day. Just call me the Stair Master.
one final note, because I'm actually yawning (YES!): when that stupid little rat crawled out of his hole and declared six more weeks of winter I wanted to fling rubberbands at him. I'm so ready for warmth. I want 90 degree days and 70 degree nights. I want to pull out my tank tops and flowy dresses and lay around by the pool and basically enjoy the sun....and the cancer it will give me. I'm ready. I have a feeling, though, that we'll have a few more bitterly cold days before it's all said and done. Maybe when Steve's ready to move on from the job he loves so well, and I'm all rich and famous because I've gotten off my ass and gotten myself published...we'll move to southern california. Or somewhere equally mild and luscious. Like Corsica. ;-)