Today, I promise to stay right way up.  Yesterday I drank a whole bunch of lime daiquiries and smoked half a deck of Colts.  Although it was a fun day, I did end up on the couch, and as a result, missed dinner with Leah and Don and drinks with Selda and the dragon boat racers.  Yeah. Like I needed more drinks at that point.  My mouth tastes extremely unpleasant, but that may also be the pasta with vegetables roasted in garlic olive oil and anchovies.  Probably a combination – and what a combination!  Garlic, anchovies, lime daiquiries and cigars.  Blech. 

What’s strange, though, is that I got a ton of kntting done.  Drunk knitting is weird.  Don’t try drunk-knitting lace or anything, but straight knitting is easy, and from some reason I can do a ton of it.  It’s a bit like the story of the Shoemaker and the Elves the next day.  “Look!  Someone knit us a…what is that, anyway?”

Right now, I’m still in bed.  I can’t sleep in on weekends, which bites.  I wake up at the same time as I do on weekdays.  Best thing to do, I find, is get a cup of coffee and some toast (I’m just recollecting that there’s some apricot jam in the fridge), and come back to bed and read for a while.  For some reason, a cup of coffee puts me back to sleep.  I don’t think that’s quite right, because on weekdays, it has the opposie effect.  O Coffee, Thou Art An Excellent Mystery Indeed.  I’ve made myself a deal.  If I go the gym all five weekdays, I don’t have to go on the weekend.  But only if I go all five, otherwise I have to go one or two days, however many I’ve skipped.  Good incentive to haul my ass out of bed Monday mornings, so I can experience the Pleasures of the Duvet on the weekends.

That might be the plan;  coffee, toast and reading in bed for a bit.  Although I have started “Blindness” for the second time, and am bravely trudging through it, it’s unrelentingly dark (no pun intended), so I’m tempering it with a little of Tina Fey’s very funny “Bossypants” and a little Krishnamurti for the good of my dirty ol’ soul.

Speaking of my dirty ol’ soul, I was thinking today might be the day I go check out the Unitarians.  But, it might also be the day I finally clean out my wardrobe and take a bunch of stuff over to Valu Village.  First dibs go to my short friend, who always likes when I clean out my wardrobe, because so many things shrink up too short for me and become just perfect for her.

Short people have it so easy, everything’s geared to them.  No matter how heavy you are, if you’re short, you’re a “petite”, and can easily find pants to fit.  Countertops, ironing boards – virtually all household surfaces – are built for the average-height woman.  Baby strollers are the worst, I could never push one for long without getting a sore back from being hunched over.  Even the grip bar on the treadmill at the gym is wrong for me.  Know what I like?  I like the big giant toilets in handicapped washrooms.  If I ever had the money to build my own home, that’s what I’d have.  Higher everything.  *sigh*  But then, everytime people were over, they’d be asking me to come reach things for them.  Times like this I miss my little Mum yelling from the kitchen “I need somebody TALL out here, please”. 


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