Boxed out

Another day, another moment. Woke up to three alarms—one the nifty new alarm clock boyfriend gave me. Two, the trusty standby cell phone just in case the alarm clock wasn’t set right. Three, the seagulls. My good word.

Love my place. Such a lucky find.

Blah rain. Blah, blah, more rain. Time to actually work now. Call me girl with pearl earring. Sigh. Settling in. Need to do a grocery run. Need a tv stand. Need to really finish unpacking (really…as in hang the curtains—BF gets to drill for that—unpack the scrap room, get it all together. Yeah.

No internet at home. What is a girl to do? Go to BF’s place of course. Of course.

My poinsettia is almost dead (almost) and I had a healthy dose of laughter at lunch with a good long lost (well found really) friend. Yet another of those “are we living up to our potential moments.” The master plan needs work. I know it.

Looking forward to washing clothes. Not putting them up mind you, but washing them and drying them sure. And maybe hanging that big bad bag of them up. Will weed through and rid myself of the stuff I will honest to God never wear. And then buy more. Sigh. I need a more professional look. So I think.

Rugs. A couple or so would be nice so my feet don’t freeze. Yeah and an oil change. Ugh. Oil. Change. Borders gift certificate to spend because, as BF says, it is not like I have oh so many books right? Challenge for the day. {s}he who guesses closest to how many books I have gets to reduce my stash by 1. Hey…it’s not everyday I get rid of a book.

Because some of you are adamantly opposed to letting folks know you’re into the blog thing, I suppose I’ll accept answers via email. But I’ll grumble at you. Growl.