I was drifting to sleep at a somewhat normal hour, but the scent of eucalyptus kindled consciousness, and I’m stuck in my typical sloth-like state of mind.
Dana’s under the weather, so she’s quarantined in the Cowboy Room where a diffuser has been set up to blanket the room with eucalyptus essential oil. However, I put a pretty potent amount in the diffuser, and, not having blocked sinuses, am getting a full dose of the therapeutic aroma. I’m afraid that I’m going to have a Pavlovion response to the smell and catch a cold out of sympathy.
Cowboy Room? One of the bedrooms in the house had been decorated with cowboy paraphernalia and functions as a lounging study with a futon, coffee table, desk, TV, and bookshelves that contain a fraction of our overall library. My parents always referred to it as the Cowboy Room. Now we do too.
So far this week in my “haven’t done much” agenda, I’ve bought a bunch of yarn, inventoried the “T” DVD’s, banged watched Aquarius on Netflix after watching the second season of 12 Monkeys, and am grooving on crocheting. Don’t judge.
I made a thing:
It’s supposed to be a bunny. Dana thinks it looks like a martian, so named him Marty. Maybe Lilo or Stitch, whichever the non-human character is. He’s my first attempt at something after teaching myself to crochet a couple of weeks ago. I love him.
I’ve also been painting some miniatures, but the last couple of days have been too damn cold in the basement to want to hang out there too long.While doing that, I’m finally getting around to The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo. Audiobook version. I’m not sure what all the hype was about. I mean it’s a decent book and all, but there seemed to be a pretty big hullabaloo about it, and I’m just not thinking it’s better or worse than any other top-tier mystery novel. I suppose I still have three chapters left, so maybe some big, mind-blowing denouement is going to cause me to rescind these comments. Nonetheless, I’m looking forward to the next book as I paint some more miniatures.
I’ve got to give the living room a good cleaning this week.
Oh… and, yeah, I’ve been obsessed with keeping up to the minute on news during Trump’s first weeks in office. Everytime I open my newsfeed or Facebook, I chastise myself because I know I’d be in a much better mood if I just ignored it all, but with the rather stress-free existence I’m experiencing right now, I feel I’m obligated to punish myself under the guise of thinking myself to be “involved.”
A Facebook friend posted something about Trump’s pick for Supreme Court. Something about him being 49 and the poster being 48. The general gist of the post was,”when the hell did I get old enough to be in the age range of Supreme Court justices.” I smirked at first, then realized I’m going to be 45 this year. That doesn’t seem right. I play video games, watch TV, shirk chores, and sleep all day. I’m living my teen-age dream life. 45 in six months!? Screw that. I’m staying on Sugar Mountain with the barkers and the colored balloons! (Neil Young reference.)
Well, shit. Approaching 3am once again. I’ve been telling myself that when this happens, I should just give in to it, and instead of floundering around useless in the bed, just get up and continue doing whatever I do. So that’s what I’m going to do… or not as my eyelids just got real heavy.