Still suffering from A Cold. Here’s what I have done today:

• Slept well past noon;
• Cycled into town to deliver clean trousers to The Man, who got his muddy this morning whilst chasing a dog (who was chasing a chicken) through a country garden;
• Cycled home and collapsed on the sofa feeling sorry for myself;
• Heated up some canned soup for lunch;
• Watched many episodes of this seasons’ Spooks even though I’ve already seen them because a) I can’t be bothered to find something new on television that actually interests me and because b) as the Guardian’s “Chart of Lust” rightly pointed out recently, women everywhere are developing an obsession with Richard Armitage, and his nose, and the absurdly cool spy he plays. I’ve got a cold and midwinter angst; I’m allowed a small celebrity crush. Deal with it.
• Realized that the show called MI5 that I used to watch back in the days when my parents had a TV and I was trying to avoid my AP calculus homework is, in fact, simply Spooks re-named for an American audience;
• Had a long bath whilst listening to Classic FM’s Smooth Classics at 6; “your relaxation station.” Considered being embarrassed by this; thought better of it;
• Made something that resembled dinner out of pasta, half an onion, a huge clove of garlic, a carrot, and some cheese. Neglected to clear anything up after;
• Wondered if all this time alone in the house is making me a little crazy;
• Listened to the same Goo Goo Dolls song about twelve times in a row whilst perusing www.dooce.com
• Decided that I am definitely going a little crazy.

Note the absence of having got any work done. Or, for that matter, any Christmas shopping. I keep thinking that I’ll start feeling really Christmas-y soon and start looking forward to my favourite holiday with fresh zeal, but for some reason every time I think about it all that happens is that I get unnaturally exited for the fact that I’ll have a whole week off work. I want to be able to sleep in with my love and wake up and have bacon and eggs, and mungle around the house with neither of us having to go to work, or get work done; it’s the prospect of that which excites me.

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• Spend more than a half hour at any time away from my new favorite couch in the lounge
• Clear out the kitchen for the painters tomorrow
• Read Jane Austen
• Read anything
• Write
• Go for a run
• Go for a walk
• Do the dishes
• Fold the laundry
• Look at my to-do list
• Take a long, lazy bath
• Go round to the shop to buy a bottle of wine

Things I have successfully done:

• Listened to the same music over and over again
• Nearly cried over an episode of Gossip Girl
• Thought about how lazy I’m being
• Eaten dinner
• Answered the door once (next-door-neighbors letting us know about a party tomorrow)
• Fallen asleep on the couch at an awkward angle, leaving my neck sore
• Wondered whether or not I’m suffering from a temporary sort of ennui, or at least having a minor existential crisis, as everything just seems to difficult to bother with…
• Wondered whether or not I can be bothered to go upstairs and get into bed or not

…and when I say “tried to do” I mostly mean “thought about doing”.

Oh boy, it’s half term…

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(just for fun–and because it makes the world seem like such an unexplored place–given my name there might just be a Shakespeare allusion here to a certain oft-quoted line)

• Been bowling (no, really, I haven’t);
• Been skiing (or snowboarding, incredulous kids);
• Been stood up for a date (I’d greatly appreciate it, however, if no-one tries to use this as justification later, i.e. “you said you’d never been stood up, I was just letting you have the experience!”);
• Actually been on a date, proper, that I understood to be such at the time (sample conversation several weeks after date–me: “so-and-so took me out the other night for dinner. he paid!” friend: “so you guys are like…dating!” me: “Oh no no…” *ruminative pause* “oh…ooooooohhhhhh. I seeeeee….”);
• Played spin-the-bottle;
• Been sick from drinking too much (really, truly);
• Failed a class (closest I’ve come: Physical Education in 4th grade for the fabulously embarrassing reason that I refused to run properly, and would only gallop like a horse–see the “honesty” quote in the righthand sidebar to understand why I would divulge something like that–and Advanced Placement Calculus in 12th grade–no further explanation needed, though I will add I passed with flying colors, eventually);
• Held a single job for longer than four months (a staggering statistic, really…unless you count education as a job, in which case I’ve been a full-time employee for something like…seventeen years);
• Been to a high school football (the American variety) game (or any other kind, for that matter, but that’s less surprising);
• Seen (insert favorite “everybody’s got to see this!” film here)…examples include: any of the Godfather films, Pulp Fiction, The Shawshank Redemption, Citizen Kane, Forrest Gump, Jaws (yes, really), Chicago, Singin’ in the Rain…it’s a random sampling. What, you wonder, was I then doing with all my free time? I can only tell you, in response, that I may not have seen Ben Hur, Rocky, or Grease, but I had read every single mystery novel that Agatha Christie ever wrote by the time I was midway through high school….(my God, I am weird. In many ways, the quintessential bookish nerd. I now point again to the quote in the right sidebar, but this time it is mostly for my own comfort–though also am making strides in my filmic education…two weekends ago I watched 16 Candles for the first time!);
• As a child, watched any Nickolodean television show with any semblance of regularity (awkward if you’re an American of my generation–how many conversations have I had to sit out on whilst my peers excitedly hone in on a character or plotline from years past, gather round the memories, and shout and murmur and giggle for hours on end? I couldn’t even begin to count);
• Slow danced with a boy (or anybody else);
• Been fired from a job;
• Had braces;
• Worn foundation or liquid makeup (I wouldn’t know how, and it kind of intimidates me);
• Successfully sewed a button back onto anything

I know there are many more that will come floating into my consciousness at odd hours. This is certainly not to diminish what I have done; or to suggest that I will never do the things listed above. It is, however, an exercise in seeing how we can be identified as much by what we are as what we aren’t; in piecing together something that shows mythology to be, sometimes, untrue; and, mostly, in making a public spectacle of myself by collecting a ramshackle array of embarrassing truths. Bless.

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Why is it that when I try to do something “good for myself” (AKA slightly selfish) I end up spending so much time feeling guilty about it that the benefits seem to shrivel up and disappear?

Am continuing to slog through coursework. This is a process that involves buying hot apple cider from the café down the street; doing the crossword; re-reading bits of books I haven’t looked at it in years; considering the contents of my cabinets, over and over again, and occasionally eating some of said contents; purging my closet of those items I do not wear on a fairly regular basis; “visiting” my friend while she does her laundry at the local Laundromat (since she obviously cannot be trusted alone in such a setting?—though to be fair, this is a ritual that has previously involved sitting on the stoop with warm mulled wine); trawling my iPhoto library for “artsy” pictures to put on display; reading other people’s blogs; occasionally glancing at my calendar and getting depressed about all the stuff I ought to be doing; thinking about going for a run but deciding it’s much to cold, and that I’ll do yoga later instead; watching the last few leaves fall from the tree outside my window; making lots of lists; drinking tea when there’s a lull, or a pang of worry, or a chill; sitting in front of my heater; and general daydreaming.

Obviously.

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