I am sitting cross-legged on my bed, with my usual thick cushion on my lap and my laptop on my cushion. I am in a state of abject stupor, as I’ve just turned the page of my calendar ready for tomorrow and I’ve noted that, yes, it really is going to be June 1. This means that it’s only three months to my birthday, just over four to Rick’s birthday, just under five to Halloween, just over five to Bonfire Night and just over six to Crimbo.
And, my friends, I am typing all of that with a grin stretched across my face because you know how much I love the September-to-February stretch of the year. Heck, I spend the rest of the year hankering after those months. Some of my friends say that I am wishing my life away, and I suppose that’s a way of looking at it (that’s a negative way of looking at it, I say), but in reality this Sacred Call to the time of year when I feel most like me is just damn irresistible.
I spent the long weekend de-weeding my garden (more like, my gardens, front and back actually) and as I was janking the bastards off (they never ever ever ever ever ever die), I was smirking to myself, thinking about the falling leaves of October and the frost that will soon after burn everything in sight. Ah mega-glorious-bliss. It won’t be long and all of this pulling and pushing and planting and shoving won’t be necessary any longer and there will be burnt colours and crackling leaves everywhere.
Other than this, and despite my recently reported shoulder-related incident, I had a great end-of-month, with my writing workshop run more than successfully, and with very happy participants enthusiastically emailing me even before I had made it home. Too bad tomorrow is Tuesday, Rick is back at work and I will have to implement all of the planning we did over the past two days (when not de-weeding the gardens, that is). I may even have to cave in and deface my beautiful red journal with PLANS. And God help me but... how I hate plans! But then, I love outcomes of good plans and so I guess they can be useful sometimes.
In non-related news, I am cupcake-free. My electric beaters leapt off the shelf the other day and landed head-on the floor, quite possibly injuring themselves beyond repair. But at least for this week that’s ok, as I have to go to a christening on Sunday and want to look good in my silk green dress. And we all know that a carbs-and-sugar abstinence, however short-lived, does wonders for one’s figure.
