Something Borrowed

In my mind, there was a lovely plan of sitting in front of a fire with a pot of tea, blogging something beautiful. The trouble is, I am quite out of tea, and there are no logs stockpiled by the kitchen door like usual. I know, the words “You are pathetic” are going through your head right now. It just might be true….. While I do realize that I could tromp out into the backyard, wrapped in one of the guys’ plaid flannel quilted shirts with extra long sleeves (to protect from spiders), and bring in wood from the woodpile, I have good reasons for hesitating. Last year, I was fearless. I pulled on gloves, chopped kindling, and brought in lots of wood. I hesitate now because the spiders have begun to take vengeance on me. I think I got bit last night, and thus have no intention of baiting them further and increasing my availability to their habitat. Therefore, having eaten a large and quite good breakfast (though I do say so myself… ;) ), I intend on stealing  *cough* borrowing some of my brother’s tea, and settling for turning on the heat instead of enjoying a cozy fire. With my current mood, this post was either going to turn out very dark, introspective, and deep, or be a light inane chattery one. Today I am settling for the latter. Consider carefully before you proceed, lest the result of reading be a strange lightheaded feeling.

I’ve gotten to a terrible place of breaking my own rules. Normally, I would never go over to someone’s house in pajama pants and a sweatshirt. Nor would I ever set foot in a store or coffee place while wearing sweatpants or workout clothes. And no, it’s not because I don’t know how to relax. It’s just that I generally do my relaxing at home. By myself. I am not the sort to be comfortable enough in most people’s homes to don comfy clothes. Generally I reserve that for my home sweet home. Sadly, I can’t live up to my precedents. Me and my anemic, low iron, low energy self (yes, I’ve been forgetting to take all my lovely pills.) have been wandering into people’s homes, borrowing pajama pants, and crashing on couches without so much as a by-your-leave. Good heavens.

I also thought I would never put chai spice into a mocha. That one has been broken about a dozen times now…. It turned out to be quite good, despite the shocked and wary looks the barista at Starbucks gave me. They have no tolerance for brilliance and creativity, apparently. Nor did I plan on making my coffee without putting vanilla or some such flavor in it. And yet, multiple times I’ve used only sugar and milk. What is my latte-mocha-frappuccino world coming to? The day I drink black coffee and actually like it will be a dark one, that will hopefully never come. I am too close for comfort already. This must stop….

One of my worst social confessions of last week? I turned on the country radio station. Heavens to betsy. I never do that. If by some freak of radio waves, I happen to catch a twangy note or two, I immediately exclaim aloud, and turn the station posthaste. But this time, I actually did it on purpose. If you know me well, you understand what an earth-shaking thing that is to do. Lest you think me too far fallen, let me assure you—I did not linger for more than twenty seconds. It was like stepping to the edge of a cliff, peering over and pondering jumping. Then, with a sudden return to sanity, being snatched away from the edge and brought back to safety.

This week I am resolved. I’ll be taking my pills, drinking my coffee, staying hydrated, and keeping it all together.

I should be going—I have a game night to plan, some Owen to read, piano lessons to teach, a dishwasher to load, laundry to put away, piano to practice, a caramel party to arrange, and an apple pie to make. I’ll save my deeper musings for another day. (or just throw them away).