With apologies to Lewis Carol.
9:59 p.m.
I was going to write about other things, specifically a reciprocatory entry to one of harri3tspy�s, but I find I really don�t feel like it. After Hubby and Little Princess left for the university this morning, after I played far too much spider solitaire, I went back to bed. I have been sleeping poorly and Tuesday night�s vigil proved my undoing, so I happily crawled back between my flanelette sheets and drifted into the land of Winken, Blinken and Nod. I didn�t see them mind you, and I can�t remember what I was dreaming, although it was quite good, at least from what I can recall from the hazy impressions I was left with. Twice though I was awakened by happenings down the street.
I mentioned a while back that something has been going on down there, dump trucks galore arriving empty and departing full. Last week Little Princess and I were sitting in the kitchen, minding our own business, when a boom shook the whole house from the foundation up. Today my sleep was interrupted by high-pitched, long drawn-out whistles, followed by the same house-shaking booms. It occured to me that they really are blasting through the rock that heretofore made for a wonderful toboganning hill in the woods, which means that the plans to extend the street to meet the next one over are being carried out apace. Bummer. I kind of like living on a cul de sac. Life will be different on a through street. Dammit.
Once up, I headed out to that temple of consumerism, Costco, and bought an awful lot of merchandise, most of it comestables, but there was a case of 50 printable CD-Rs in there and a really cute crocheted top with detachable camisole (white) that only set me back $15. I can�t believe that a place that is supposedly designed to save me money somehow seems to suck it out of my bank account like a vacuum cleaner. Of course, I didn�t have time to go home and unload the car, so I ended up leaving my groceries in the trunk while I went to choir (the outside temperature was cold enough to do this), and I sat next to the scooper once more and forebore wringing her neck with my bare hands, or even saying anything to her. She�s even more maddening than the bass behind me who cannot sing in tune (or anywhere near the right pitches to save his life--how he got into the choir is a mystery to me) as after a while he just becomes a buzz in the background. Oh well. Out of the gazillion sopranos, I�m sure she will not be noticed. Hopefully when we get up on the risers, I won�t be next to her anymore.
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