Too much going on which is calling me away from here right now. I’m around—just not very vocal, it seems. I’d write a list of what’s going on this week/month/season but I suspect everyone would just yawn and be all “yeah, you’re busy, what else is new?”
If you had just gotten a big wooden sideboard with 2 drawers and 2 cabinet doors on the front with carved apples with leaves in squares in the center of them, what color would you paint it? It’s currently white, which we don’t want. Anders suggested grey (probably to stave off my penchant for painting the furniture green or blue) and I thought maybe light grey and dark grey would work really nicely…the kids insist the apples have to be red and the leaves have to be green. Hrm.
Sometimes I feel like I have nothing to write about, really. Sometimes I feel like everything I have to say is trite. Sometimes it seems that I have SO MUCH to write about that it all snarls up in my hands and my head and gets stuck. All valid reasons for not writing anything, I suppose, but no excuse.
Am hungry, despite a decent dinner. Restraining myself from snacking. Why is that harder than just about anything else? Why does just writing about this make my stomach protest all the harder that it’s EEEMMMMPPPTTTYYYYYYY….you could probably hear it from there if you listened hard enough.
Had a massage today. It was good but not as good as my husband’s when he really puts his mind to it. No one else seems to hit the sore spots in my neck and shoulders the way he does. And it can’t be a good sign that my shoulders were STILL hurting afterwards, can it? Maybe I should go ambush him with sad puppydog eyes. After all, he hasn’t given me a backrub since before I went to the States.
Gotta go. Stuff to do that ain’t getting done while I’m checking in here.
God, what a lame post.
Really Great Writing Out There Right Now: Never teach your kids to read