Yesterday, instead of doing things I should have been doing, like banking and washing clothes and moving the patio stuff to our locker, I indulged myself, starting with a promise to do nothing of any significance. When I found myself trying to define "significance", I began a self-defence mind-cleansing program arranging my earrings by size and colour and in no time I was way down the road on a journey to self-unfulfillment.
Some things I actually did:
- filled out an online questionnaire that was to lead me to making a very precise decision about which of 27 shades of blonde to order from a high-end designed-for-you colourist (I stopped colouring my hair about 6 years ago and have no intention of starting up that evil practice again)
- read a cookbook called Fresh and Healthy while trying not to laugh (or cry)
- put a fourth coat of polish on my raggedy-cuticled nails while trying to ignore the fingernail that 's been attacked by whatever is making the skin fall off my fingers on one hand
- voraciously read a blog by Meg the Handywoman about paint I'd love to have miraculously appear on my bathroom ceiling
- conducted an in-depth search for the mailbox key that led me to finding a note from Dave that he'd taken the key to have a copy made (and that he'd be gone for the rest of the day on an errand of mercy)
- took my almost-daily walk around the Firefighters' Memorial, speaking the names on the fifth line of engraving
- made the horrifying discovery that some of my silver bracelets aren't silver (it was the coppery sheen that gave them away)
- made a list of things I really should have been doing instead
- took an oath to stop making lists.
No wonder I can't sleep.