Disclaimer: I am not noticeably springing forward in any way other than setting my clocks ahead an hour. I'd like to tell you that I have been propelled into some kind of frenzy of self-improvement, but that would be a lie. Thank you.
From observing the moderate outerwear of passersby, it is my belief that it is warm outside, but here in the north-facing apartment, I just keep adding layer upon layer of clothing and wondering if it would be de trop to put on gloves. I made a plan to meet someone at 2pm, with some notion that I would want to have the morning and early afternoon to--I don't know--sleep very late and then swan about gracefully? Read a book? Write a poem? I have no idea. What has happened instead is that I stayed up far too late watching some kind of murder mystery and then, thanks to raging Allergy Head, slept for what felt like about 37 minutes. All in all, 2pm turns out to be a uniquely inconvenient time to do anything. Not far enough away to really commit to anything else, but distant enough to necessitate a great deal of time-killing. I've been ricocheting around like an air hockey puck (or possibly a real hockey puck. I wouldn't know. I prefer air hockey and miniature golf to their grown-people equivalents). I'm listening to RadioLab! No! I'm reading an article about Burning Man! No! I'm listening to "Kill the Director" by the Wombats! No! I'm updating my blog with my up-to-the-minute thoughts and feelings! On and on it goes with little pauses to put on more sweaters and rotisserie myself in front of the heating vent.
1. I spoke to my neighbor about the construction-site-worthy racket that comes my way every time they feed their kid. He's made some adjustments to the high chair and the noise has gone from unbearable to really, really annoying. So that's improvement.
2. Often I "wash" my face with nothing more than water and a washcloth. This seemed perfectly adequate; it's not as though I work in a coal mine or on the Vaudeville stage. Recently, just for the heck of it, I used some make-up remover and a cotton um...disk (What are those things called?) which I generally use only on the rare occasion I've got to contend with mascara. And that is how I came to learn that I've been employing an Elizabethan style of hygiene. Oh. Hi, makeup. What are you doing on this cotton disk? Did you not notice the water I liberally applied a few minutes ago? Apparently not. Good to know. Sorry about that, pores.
3. I've been to a few lately and, secretly, I'm not sure movies are radically improved by being in 3D. This may be partially because I have exactly the wrong nose for wearing those glasses for two hours. Ow. But, really, why the sudden fervor for another dimension? Surely, that is what going outside is for?
4. The Blog Bully and I went to the theatre on Friday and he took issue with my insinuation that it's his fault I've been such a lousy blogger. He said he'd certainly noticed, but was trying to be kind under the circumstances of my lengthy indisposition. He's having no more of it. We're all on notice.
Oh, hooray. In ten minutes, it'll be time to leave the house. Enjoy your evening of lingering sunlight.