Well, I won't apologize for the outburst of misery the other day. (Outbursts, if you also read my Xanga blog.) Suffice to say, however, that I am better today. Probably I WILL spend most of Christmas Day in tears, but I will endeavor to be happy too. I do have some fabulous blessings here, particularly wonderful coworkers who offer to bring me ornaments for my tree and who invite me to their family gatherings for Christmas dinner. This is still new and still strange and sometimes still scary, but I am well looked after and well loved.
My apartment now has pictures -- beautifully matted and framed -- hanging on the walls; Mom brought them, having framed them all herself during her spare (?) time at the Gallery. So now some of my loveliest prints from my old dorm room have taken up a more permanent-looking residence: "My Sweet Rose," a stunning photograph of a tree taken by Erika Szymanski's father, and several Van Goghs.
My parents also brought me a real Christmas tree! I worked in the lights as artfully as I could, and I like the result. Now it needs a few ornaments and some icicles, and it will be truly a pleasure to look at. It smells like a forest and my dryad self is happy.
So I have much for which to be thankful.
A few more ramblings....
What I planned to do today (as it was my day off): S l e e p.
What I did today: Cleaned. All day. Everything. I vacuumed, I dusted, I swept and handwashed the bare floors (not much of those), I CLEANED MY BATHROOM, and did a fridge purge. I wiped out the microwave, did my laundry, reorganized the freezer, washed the dishes, ran the dishwasher, and vacuumed some more. I took out the trash. (Did I mention I dusted?) The moral of today: If you find yourself bitten by the cleaning bug, give in. You'll feel satisfied and pleased, and you sure as hell won't feel like doing it tomorrow, so reward yourself by being responsible. I don't have to work till 6:00 p.m. tomorrow, and I can spend all that day lounging. And writing. I'm renewing my dedication to the craft, and Clytemnestra has been sitting on the shelf for too long.
Isn't it funny that the ancient dorm couch so ugly it's covered in sheets is the only one we really sit on?
I'm rereading Kipling's First Jungle Book and loving it. What narrative. What fun.
A shout-out to Matt Holman: Thank you. :)
1 comment:
I had to read the title of this entry four times before I realized where it was from. Excellent reference.
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