Autumn
I love this time of year, so much. It makes me sparky, creative, horny, and happy. Basically, it turns me back into me. Summer does weird things to me. Makes me feel guilty and rushed, like I'm always not doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Since I'm pretty sure what I'm supposed to be doing during Summer is having fun, this is a really odd thing.
But autumn. Autumn feels like coming home after a long day, kicking off your shoes, pouring yourself a glass of scotch, and staring at the fire that magically created itself in your awesome stone fireplace. There's a sense of relaxation earned.
Which is hilarious, because I'm sitting on my couch typing in my blog, with a warm cup of coffee and surrounded by fuzzy cats, after having gotten NOTHING accomplished. It's early yet. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I still have hours left to get started on laundry, clean my kitchen, empty the litter boxes, decorate my bedroom, put up my new prints, make sushi rice and crunchy salad and sushi and goat cheese, tomato, and fig balsamic salad.
PLENTY OF TIME TO GET THAT ALL DONE. After I'm done watching the trees dance while the wind whips through them. And watching the sun peek out through stormy clouds, teasing and coy. Done sitting on the sunporch, reading The Botany of Desire and munching on toast. Done wandering aimelessly through the garden somebody else planted, planning imaginary dinners I'd make with their bounty. Done taking a nap on a couch under the window, with the cool wind trying to sneak under my fuzzy blanket and layer of cats.
Oh autumn. I love how you reset my priorities. You make being me seem normal and right.
But autumn. Autumn feels like coming home after a long day, kicking off your shoes, pouring yourself a glass of scotch, and staring at the fire that magically created itself in your awesome stone fireplace. There's a sense of relaxation earned.
Which is hilarious, because I'm sitting on my couch typing in my blog, with a warm cup of coffee and surrounded by fuzzy cats, after having gotten NOTHING accomplished. It's early yet. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I still have hours left to get started on laundry, clean my kitchen, empty the litter boxes, decorate my bedroom, put up my new prints, make sushi rice and crunchy salad and sushi and goat cheese, tomato, and fig balsamic salad.
PLENTY OF TIME TO GET THAT ALL DONE. After I'm done watching the trees dance while the wind whips through them. And watching the sun peek out through stormy clouds, teasing and coy. Done sitting on the sunporch, reading The Botany of Desire and munching on toast. Done wandering aimelessly through the garden somebody else planted, planning imaginary dinners I'd make with their bounty. Done taking a nap on a couch under the window, with the cool wind trying to sneak under my fuzzy blanket and layer of cats.
Oh autumn. I love how you reset my priorities. You make being me seem normal and right.
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