Let's play a game.
It's called "Let's see if Bailey can finish a blog post rather than forgetting about it and ultimately saving it as a draft to be lost in the draft archives forever."
Sound fun? Great.
Even if it means I have to type your ears (eyes?) off about random stuff you don't care about, we're doing this.
Let's see......what can we talk about?......
I have been sorting paper like WHOA lately.
Bags and bags and paper grocery bags have I filled with stuff I. DON'T. NEED!
And it feels so gooddddddddddddddd.
Except for the moments when I've been doing it for hours and I still see an embarrassing mountain of paper before me -- those are the moments I get cranky and cancel plans with Alex and make Abby want to run and hide from her scary, cranky roommate.
But I am keeping on!
Tonight I envision a beer bottle beside me, tunes serenading me, as I sort, sift, toss, and file.
Ahhhhhhhhh. Feels so good, Y'all.
I am doing e'rrrrrrrything these days.
Two freelance assignments due in the next four weeks. Brother and sis-in-law in town (!!!!) for Easter. To a wedding with my honey bee this weekend.
Volunteered to do the drive to the wedding, so gotta clean my car out to make room for suitcases.
And we all know that'll take a month to complete.
[That reminds me, I recently found myself saying to a server taking my plate away at the dinner table: "I am completed," instead of "I am finished." Isn't that weird? It just came out of my mouth. Alex said I could keep it up and it could be my thing.]
If I don't have just the softest, snuggliest munch.
He cracked me up last night. I went on a walk/jog after work, and when I got home I immediately made a smoothie (because I knew if I put it off, I'd end up ordering pizza. Again.), whereas usually I bee line it to the cat's dish to load it up with some chopped up meat yums.
That little booger just sat on the couch and went, "Meow. Meow. Meow. MeOW! Meow. Meow."
As soon as I turned on my heels to head toward Cat Food Land, that nugget went flying toward his dish.
Love him. And love talking about him. Can you tell?
I finally sent my Christmas cards. That's right. They were scribbled in, stuffed, enveloped, stickered, and stamped in November, I'll have you know. But, yes, I didn't mail them until recently. But people loved that little spring pick me up!
Wouldn't this world be different if Stevie's song had been Stuffed, Enveloped, Stickered instead of Signed, Sealed, Delivered?
Think about it.
I sang Stevie's version of "Happy Birthday" to Abby at karaoke for her 30th, and I just want to inform you all: that song is approximately nine minutes long.
Just so you're aware. Before you put your name on that slip of paper volunteering yourself to sing it, just think about what you're getting yourself into.
Think about it.
Back to correspondence notes/updates.
I found eight -- EIGHT. -- books of stamps while cleaning my bedroom this weekend.
And I wrote messages on three postcards, but have not yet sent them.
I also assembled multiple packages for friends and family and schlepped my load over to the UPS store and coughed up some dollars to send some love via the Pony Express.
I love sending mail. And getting it.
I think that's why I always order things online. It might be more about receiving mail than about the objects themselves.
Which is a problem. [Takes note on what to discuss in next therapy session...addiction to mail...]
Phew! That was a lot of talk about mail! Are you tired yet?
OK let's do one last topic and then wrap this up and then celebrate that Bailey began and finished a blog post, even if it was just chatty and not real creative writing.
Ahh, flowers. Nosegays.
I love 'em, don't you?
That's another thing -- like mail -- that I like to give and receive.
And my honey bee buys them for me a lot. I like that he never tires of doing so. He gave me a new bunch last night, and I put them in an old, squatty salsa jar with a green ribbon tied round. They are sitting on my desk at the office and, well, just keeping me cheery.
I've also been noticing them all around.
I used to be rather negative and prone to depression and all that, and in those days I would see a flower sticking out of an otherwise urban, dusty, neglected crack of pavement and it would make me feel...deflated. Like why was that burst of color even trying?
I know this sounds dramatic and terrible, but it's getting me nearly teary writing this because that was truly how I felt.
But now, especially in the last week or so, I've been like, "Ooh! Flower! What a gift in this otherwise urban, dusty, neglected crack of life!"
I notice the scent. Jasmine is my absolute fave of real life, experience-it-in-the-wild, flora smells.
I notice the color. ColorS. I notice the shapes. The personality of each bundle. There are just zillions of flowers! And they are free to look at! And smell! And everything would otherwise be dusty, and ugly, and sadly overlooked, if it weren't for the flowers jutting their nosey little nosegay selves into our lives!
I know this sounds dramatic and gaggy, but really. STOP AND SMELL THE FLOWERS. They are here for US.
If you don't stop and smell the flowers, at least be aware of the jasmine as you pass it. Even if you're too busy to stop and meditate and pretend you're at an ashram with your yoga pals.
Just smell it.
Let that GIFT waft around you. Let it tangle in your hair and tickle your lungs and please your soul. And know that I'll be doing the same.
Loves from your flower-obsessed friend. I hope you're well.