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Sixty-five degrees out Friday. Sunny, but when you closed your eyes you could hear the rain. This turned out to be the sound of ice melting from rooftops. Spring?
I wore a short skirt to go with my new short hair, and my new Capezio Mary Janes. Unfortunately the soles of my new Capezio Mary Janes are made of some kind of weird foam that disintegrates in water, and I stepped in a puddle. It’s hard for me to find shoes that I like. Being Amazon Girl, I had big feet to begin with and they went up an additional size every time I had a baby. Now I wear size 11s. I will pout and sulk and throw the daintiest of temper tantrums if I can’t find a cobbler who can fix my new Capezio Mary Janes.
Yesterday, though, it went right back to being winter. Six inches of snow, whiteout conditions from the 50 mph winds. I was scheduled to work at Boring, Unremunerative But Hey! It’s a Regular Paycheck Central, but the roads were so bad I was literally housebound. Entertained myself by cooking a pot-roast, finishing The Best American Short Stories 2010.
Did very little of any consequence last week.
Slept a lot.
Cooked – a pulled pork dish, a Chicken Cacciatore. Ruined the latter by throwing in broccoli. Broccoli does not go with tomato sauce.
Watched three seasons of Homicide, Life On the Streets.
Read Just Kids. (Patti Smith)
Scribbled some on the literary short stories. Scribbled some on the Steinbeck collaboration.
Did not get the job I interviewed for; continue to believe I was the best possible candidate for the job I interviewed for: their loss, right? Will interview for another job this week.
Had a vision of Origami figures – peacocks, irises, butterflies in bright colors, shellacked and strung as a curtain between the kitchen and my sleeping nook, and wasted about 40 sheets of paper – what is that? one tree branch? – because, you know, I’m too klutzy to make Origami.
Felt oddly content in a way I haven’t felt for months. All that sleep. Or maybe all that broccoli.
There was more B-related mishegass. ( I’m writing it down only because I may be able to cannibalize parts of it for other projects in the future. )
I wore a short skirt to go with my new short hair, and my new Capezio Mary Janes. Unfortunately the soles of my new Capezio Mary Janes are made of some kind of weird foam that disintegrates in water, and I stepped in a puddle. It’s hard for me to find shoes that I like. Being Amazon Girl, I had big feet to begin with and they went up an additional size every time I had a baby. Now I wear size 11s. I will pout and sulk and throw the daintiest of temper tantrums if I can’t find a cobbler who can fix my new Capezio Mary Janes.
Yesterday, though, it went right back to being winter. Six inches of snow, whiteout conditions from the 50 mph winds. I was scheduled to work at Boring, Unremunerative But Hey! It’s a Regular Paycheck Central, but the roads were so bad I was literally housebound. Entertained myself by cooking a pot-roast, finishing The Best American Short Stories 2010.
Did very little of any consequence last week.
Slept a lot.
Cooked – a pulled pork dish, a Chicken Cacciatore. Ruined the latter by throwing in broccoli. Broccoli does not go with tomato sauce.
Watched three seasons of Homicide, Life On the Streets.
Read Just Kids. (Patti Smith)
Scribbled some on the literary short stories. Scribbled some on the Steinbeck collaboration.
Did not get the job I interviewed for; continue to believe I was the best possible candidate for the job I interviewed for: their loss, right? Will interview for another job this week.
Had a vision of Origami figures – peacocks, irises, butterflies in bright colors, shellacked and strung as a curtain between the kitchen and my sleeping nook, and wasted about 40 sheets of paper – what is that? one tree branch? – because, you know, I’m too klutzy to make Origami.
Felt oddly content in a way I haven’t felt for months. All that sleep. Or maybe all that broccoli.
There was more B-related mishegass. ( I’m writing it down only because I may be able to cannibalize parts of it for other projects in the future. )
