|The bathroom is more apple green than it appears here|
|Project number 1|
Post-menopausal zest hit me in the side of the head yesterday, and I painted not only the bookcase, but then went on to paint a bathroom. I was a woman on fire.
Today I'm broken into little pieces. I'm wearing two icy-hot patches on my back and am filled with Tylenol. Aging is pathetic.
Tom, who warned me yesterday that I was doing too much, has been kind with offerings of mixed berries and cream and crackers with Camembert cheese and a ride through our favorite neighborhoods. Neighborhoods with arching Sycamore trees.
Do we capitalize trees or is that German?
Anyway, I'm waiting to be arrested. I called for jury duty last night and they were taking numbers with the letter Z in front of it. I have a Y letter. The jury secretary told me she would send me another card, because I postponed the first round to go to Phoenix. But I never received another card. But did they send me a card and it has been lost? Will I be responsible? Will they fine me a $1000 or send me to jail for a month.
I have had jail fantasies for years, but I imagine it would be as disappointing as other fantasies that I have invested way too much emotional time in. In fact, my experience is that the fantasy is almost always better than the real thing.
Okay, that just isn't true. That is so seriously not true. But I'm too tired to give examples.
Lazy writing. Really lazy writing.