Resolutions ....

... so, how did I go with last years? Let's see.
Declutter - Umm, no not really, not until this Thursday actually. Behold, the debris of my decluttered wardrobe & drawers.Move a bit - A bit, until I broke my back.
Less booze - Hahahahahahahahahaaa! No.
More fruit - Sadly, unless you count pickled pears, no.
Fix things - Well, we got new windows, painted the house and redid the front path, that counts. More to come on that front in 2011.
As for this year, here you go (clickie to enbiggen).

Idle time ...

... is essential, I believe. It's thinking time, the opportunity to mull over life, the universe and everything.
There are folk who believe it's important to be busy, to fill every imaginable second of their day with things to do. These are the people who keep telling you how busy they are, proclaim they're not enough hours in the day to get done what must get done, who express amazement that I have time to read, pootle, or do nothing but daydream. They bemoan their exhaustion and confess, patronisingly, how wonderful it would be to find a little me time.
They are judging me, I know that. They think I'm lazy and their busy, filled-to-the-brim days make them far superior beings.
If these people really wanted me time they could find it.
If they took a good hard look at all the things they had to do I'm pretty damn sure they could weed out some of those tasks. I'm quite sure that many of those essential duties are not at all crucial. They are time fillers, activities designed to keep one in motion, not thinking.

Because if they stopped, did nothing, and began to think about things, they may have to acknowledge just how sad and empty their lives actually are.*

from here

Me? When I just lie back and do nothing at all I often find myself smiling and have to confess to myself that I'm actually quite happy, comfortable and content with life**. There's not much I'd change at all.

* This is not, of course, a rant against the genuinely can't get it all done folk, them I feel for and wish upon them much me time and soon!
** Except, obviously, when I'm being a moody cow grumbling about others :)

So, Jury Duty ...

... obviously I can't tell you any of the juicy details, mainly because there aren't any, but also because I'd get into terrible trouble with the jury police for talking about the trial outside the jury room and with persons other than my fellow jurors! Apparently they could take me outside and shoot me for that.
I can tell you it's a bit like a holiday. There's the 10 am start! There's the full hour lunch, 1pm on the dot EVERY DAY! There's the breaks for morning AND afternoon tea. There's the 4pm on the DOT end of the day. O, and then there's the 1pm end of the day EVERY Friday. POETS* day, every Friday - Bliss! And work pays me, my usual rate HA.
The food provided is fucking awful, really, really bad. I know I'm fussy but honestly, it's appalling. I take my own.
The Jury room is small and ugly, but we get a balcony, which will be nice when it warms up.
The trial is dull, repetitive and not at all juicy. I'm glad it's not a horrible murder, rape of something beastly to children or animals. I'm not at all sure I'd cope with that.
My fellow jurors? Some seem quite nice and some ... well let's just say I'm not planning on breaking the law anytime soon, a Jury trial by my peers is a terrifying thought**.






* O go on, you can work it out I'm sure.
** Why yes, I am a bit of a snob, for good reason I assure you.

Sorry, I've gone private again ...

... I found out someone had added me to "networked blogs" on the evil facebook. This has freaked me out and I think I'll draw a veil over things for a bit until I feel calmer about stuff.
I hate facebook and that people (far flung relatives I don't really have anything to do with mostly), keep finding me on it despite my best efforts. It gives me the heebies.
You know, perhaps this blogging thing isn't such a good idea.

First crush ...

... I remember my first “real” crush.
He had aquamarine eyes. Up close they looked like a tiny patchwork of blue & green tiles, just like butterfly wings.
And he trembled *ehem* on occasion. Vibrated, a sort of thrumming, rather like a cat’s purring, only silent. It freaked me out, ever so slightly, the first time.
I recall that once, during a (totally justified at the time) man-hating stage, I raged to a particularly patronising aunt that cats were better than men, “men don’t purr” I raged. “Sometimes they do” she smirked.
It turns out she was right.
His inappropriately possessive step-mother didn’t approve of me at all (I lived in an unsalubrious suburb, went to a Catholic school and my mother worked, outside the home), and he went to boarding school, so the summer holiday romance didn’t last. But all that kissing led me to believe boys may not be so very bad afterall, and of that I am glad.
I heard he ended up joining the army, marrying a woman 10 or so years younger than himself and producing quite a few children.
I’m glad I waited for Mr Brown.

Life lessons ...

... when I was a little girl my dad used to tell me, "if you don't eat, you don't shit and if you don't shit, you die". (No, really, he used to say that to his tiny wee girl child.)
Since that time I have learned that it is also very, very important to drink plenty of water.*




* especially if you've consumed more than the recommended number of glasses of red wine.