Is this only the fifth time I’m doing this? Apparently. Seems like longer somehow. And yet, time flies by. Universe = enigma!
Hopefully, the typing will help warm me up as I’m freezing. It’s not supposed to be all early March up in May, but Mother Nature did not get that memo. Also, The People did not get the memo that it’s Friday, and Friday is a day for doing less, not more. I don’t care if you did nothing all week and need to follow up, empty your desk, answer your emails. I’m trying to relax on my first extremely unofficial weekend day (whilst at work). You’re not helping.
I shall blog, and that will help. And so, without further ado, I present:
Goldfish crackers (the snack that smiles back) are tasty. (Pardon my chewing.)
The month is coming to an end and I hope the weather swings do, too. Today: sweater, but no socks. Socks in bag, just in case. Sweater will probably come off by afternoon. It’s like being in a stage production featuring a zillion quick changes. At least winter is cold and summer is hot. I can plan for consistent temps.
I don’t know who’s liking all the Viggo Mortensen so that it’s showing up in my Pinterest feed, but thanks!
The shoes I ordered online are on their way. Note to shoemakers: Simply slapping a strap across a pump does not make it a Mary Jane.
I have this phrase I use (mostly at work) — if something’s really someone else’s responsibility, just volley that ball back. Note: At this point, my backhand could give Martina Navratilova in her prime a run for her money.
My introvert card may be revoked, or at least have an asterisk added next to the part that says (used to say?) “Extremely Introverted.” Last night, I said, “Taking a class — yeah, I think in person is better than online. Part of the fun is meeting new people.” WHO AM I?
This week, after returning from an awesome class that had me high on life, someone started talking about a President Orange speech. “Don’t,” I said. “You’ll ruin my buzz.”
My new tambourines have arrived. I shall keep the jingly beat at choir. I can’t wait.
I shall leave you with a pretty song, sans tambourine solo, that our choir is singing. Our conductor, though, doesn’t look like He-Man.