It is Saturday morning.
With good girl intentions, I rose at 6ish completely meaning to begin a productive day,
- cleaning things, sorting things, tossing things
- assessing, recording, and processing many things of a financial nature
- organizing small doses of chemical things in well-labelled pillboxes
for ingestion over the next month's time - writing things in various places, including here.
Two plus hours later and I have accomplished the following:
- Concocted and ingested a reeeeallly bad cup of coffee
- Indulged in an excessive amount of cuddle-time with Periwynkle, my second most elusive kittencat, a delicate boned medium-haired calico who does not present herself often for adulation and so must be lavishly over-accommodated when she deigns to present her plumey-tailed self in my lap as I am drinking my reeeeallly bad morning coffee and trying to find a forgiveable reason for not actually getting the morningswork started
Thank you Peri for the most excellent excuse. - Come here to the keyboard and screen to attempt an entry of middling worth
and instead discovering and exploring the world of Ralph Lauren surprisingly cheap and somehow compellingly tacky jewellry and wasting much time not buying any of it
(but it's just keystrokes, sooo easy to do, not connected in any way at all to draining funds
from my completely dwindled accounts.) - Finally writing this entry which fails to meet the low bar of my self-imposed criterion of "middling worth."
Oh well.
The (only) thrift store (I frequent) will be open in about a half an hour.
- My house is overstuffed. I need nothing at this time.
- A large part of the chaos that requires the above mentioned cleaning and sorting has been gleefully hunted and unwisely gathered on previous unnecessary (but ohso satisfying) almost weekly thrift-trips.
- The only thing I could possibly purchase for legitimate need, a nice coat for NEXT winter,
is a one in a pick-your-ridiculous-number chance
and there will be an astronomical number of items in the store that will simply scream (and loudly enough for even my pitiful ears to hear)
that I absolutely must have them
and I, unbound to any mast of adult self-discipline or self-respect,
will answer the sirens' calls.
I would be rude to the nth degree to ignore them, would I not?
Excuse me.
I must go put on a really nifty striped blue and white
$3 chambray Ralph Lauren shirt
(yep, him again
are you sensing a fetish, I mean a pattern in my taste in designers and colours?)
and a lovely multi-gored denim skirt that I imagine flutters flatteringly as I walk.
(It might not actually flutter flatteringly as I walk, but that doesn't matter.
As long as I think it flutters flatteringly as I walk -
Mission accomplished ! )
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