I arose late, and even then Boo looked at me like WTF, up ALREADY? We're both getting uber-old here. After popping my wonder pill, the tiny thyroid hormone that starts my engine with a roar every day, and brush, brush, flush, flush, I toddled around the corner to the kitchen to mix up a mess of Greek yogurt pancakes with TJ's apple-cranberry butter and (Lite) Cool-Whip, which I consumed like a vacuum cleaner, saving the very last tidbit for Pickle/Boo. I put on my workout clothes, always a hint that I expect to show up at the gym sometime in the future, made the bed, and here I sit. Have checked email, cyber-lurked in kid's lives on Facebook (little kiddo washed her Blackberry, I don't feel so bad), and sent confirmation to Face to Face of my entry in this year's Art for Life, my little blue pig, Willoughby, named after that stinky guy in Sense and Sensibility who jilted Marianne. Oh, and I looked at a gallery of celebrity baby bumps and read an article about portraying madness in theater. Any minute now, I am off to the gym. Yes. And, having completed the newest stage of sew and sew, I get to mess around with my pastels this afternoon. Totally inspired by a visit to a local gallery to see my classmate's exhibit, and some other really remarkable art. Ready to leap into this with elan. And inspiration.
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